Page 29 of Killer on the First Page
“William Shakespeare died in 1616—”
“I think I know where you’re going with this line of inquiry. However, Bill Shakespeare wasbornin 1564. I googled that personally. The adventure and the romance of those novels—never forget the romance!—takes placebeforeWilliam Shakespeare became a famous playwright, when he was as yet a young and fallow fellow.”
“But 1564 is the sixteenth century. Your books take place in”—she consulted her notes—“The fifteenth century.”
A long pause. “Yes. Well. Dramatic license. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Height?”
“Sorry?”
“Your height,” said Scoop. “Your website says you are ‘just shy of six feet,’ but that must be a typo. And your place of birth—”
At which point Fairfax was rescued by Harpreet the Superfan, who cut in, asking, “Mr. DePoy, is it true your next novel will feature a romance between Jack Stryker and Cleopatra?”
“Sorry, Harpreet. I just have one more question for Mr. DePoy,” said Scoop. “You studied creative writing at the Idaho Writers Retreat, is that correct?”
“I didn’t.”
“But you did.”
“I did not.”
“The Idaho Writers Retreat, the one headed by the late John D. Ross? You were one of his pupils.”
“I was not.”
“But you were. You studied there. I mean, under your real name...”
The look on Fairfax’s face hardened—and softened at the same time. Memories of the Great Man:You want to write historical mysteries? Go ahead. But don’t spend too much time in the library. Research is overrated.Fairfax DePoy, sitting at the feet of the master, grateful for any crumbs that fell his way...
Snapping out of it, his eyes narrowed. “This interview,” he said, “is over.”
In the background, Kane Hamady was watching.
Chapter Eight
The Shriek of a Thousand Banshees
“Doc,” said Miranda, “do I belong here?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Well, you are co-owner.”
“I mean, in Happy Rock. Do you think I belong here, on this bay, in this town?”
“Sure you do. For better or worse, this is your home.”
But was it? She couldn’t help noticing that Doc had inadvertently referenced a wedding vow.For richer or poorer, for better or worse.If home was where the heart was, where did Miranda’s heart lie?
Talking to Penny had brought it all back: the table reads and last-minute rewrites, the stunt doubles and walk-throughs, the energy and excitement of throwing together a show, week after week. They were so much younger back then. Penny, suggesting in her awkward way that perhaps they should take better advantage of Miranda’s talents. “Sheisa classically trained actress.” But no, it was all speedboats and bikinis, with the occasional pious reflections on the homilies of St. John thrown in for good measure, right before she karate-chopped another celebrity guest star into oblivion. The memories were flooding in. Hollywood was calling, softly, softly... Maybe Miranda could try again? Un-fire the agent she’d un-rehired in a spate of anger,look for small roles, try to get a foot in the door? It’s not like Edgar would miss her. And she could always summer back in Happy Rock once she’d made it big again. Didn’t Clooney have a cabin on Lake Como? A twenty-four-bedroom cabin with its own helipad, true, but still. Maybe one didn’t have to choose between Happy Rock and LA. Maybe one could have both?
But Miranda knew that once she went back to LA, she would stay. If only there was a sign, something—anything—to tell her what to do, to solve this dilemma, to help her decide once and for all whether to stay or to go. Hollywood beckoned, with its glamor and pizzazz, but if she left Happy Rock, Miranda knew she would miss the calm, relaxing nature of—
The door at the end of the hallway blew open on a blast of cold air, and the most horrendous shriek imaginable filled the air like the wailing of a thousand banshees unleashed upon the world.
It was Mabel and her accordion.
Whenever an honored guest happened to grace Happy Rock with their presence, it was important to present the town in its full pomp and splendor. Thus, the Great Imperial Master of the Tillamook Loyal Order of Joyous Igneous & Cretaceous Bricklayers would enter the authors’ reception in full ceremonial gravitas.
