Page 5 of Killer on the First Page
Physically, quite different. But clad in matching jogging suits and fanny packs: his a shiny metallic blue and hers an even shinier metallic pink.
“I’m Geri—”
“That’s short for Geraldine. And I’m Gerry—”
“Not short for Gerald—”
“Everybody thinks that, but—”
“He’s just plain old Gerry!”
“Not short for anything. That’s me!”
Edgar looked like he wanted to stab himself in the eye with a saladfork. Andrew slipped away before he could be sucked into the vortex of Geri and Gerry.
“Miranda Abbott. A pleasure.” She extended her hand like a favor.
A squeal—from Gerry, oddly enough. Geri, in contrast, was rendered mute, but only momentarily. Only ever momentarily, it seemed.
“Oh my gosh!” she cried. “What an honor. We are such fans, aren’t we, honey?”
“We sure are! Loved you onT.J. Hooker.”
Miranda’s smile faltered. “That was Heather Locklear, darling. I was never onT.J. Hooker. I did briefly date Bill Shatner, though—in my youth.” Her voice dropped. “He’s quite a bit older than me. Smelled of maple syrup.”
Edgar turned to the caterers and asked with as much civility as he could muster, “And why are you here?”
“The reception, of course!”
“That would be the reception for the authors. The one that begins”—he checked his watch—“Seven hours from now?”
“You bet! No time to lose!” They disappeared down the hall to the kitchen at the back of the bookstore.
“Cute couple,” said Miranda.
“Define cute.”
“Well, sort of the opposite of us, I suppose.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Edgar. “I’m plenty cute.”
Cardboard boxes were stacked in the main room of the bookstore. Miranda counted eight of them, and when she checked the return labels, she noted they hadn’t been shipped from a publishing company or a book distributor or a discount wholesaler. They’d been sent from a private address.
“Who is Helen Ross?”
“She’s the recently widowed wife of the late great John D. Ross.Donated these to the bookstore, said her husband’s works should be out in the world to be read and enjoyed, to be bought and sold and given as gifts, not gathering dust in a private library or hidden away in storage.”
“A friend of yours?” Andrew asked, having rematerialized once G&G had gone.
“Not really,” said Edgar. “I only ever met her once. Had no idea she was going to bequeath me these books. I first read about it in the trades like everyone else:Helen Ross to donate a complete collection of her husband’s works to bookstore owned by former head writer on...etcetera.”
EtceterameaningPastor Fran Investigates, the TV show that Miranda had starred in and he had written, back when they were married. They were still married, true, but not in any real sense, and it made her heart ache to hear Edgar refer to that part of their lives as an addendum.
John D. Ross. The name was familiar. “We carry his books, don’t we?” said Miranda.
“Of course we do. He was a legend. They called him ‘Old Blood and Thunder.’”
“Didn’t they make a TV show?” Miranda asked.
