Page 53 of Killer on the First Page
“You know that toothpick was in Kane’s mouth?”
“Oh. Right.” With a theatrical turn, she sailed back up the steepand creaky stairs. Some people made grand entrances; Miranda Abbott had mastered the art of the grand exit.
Cutthroat trout and vanishing pages from a lost manuscript... Did these intersect? Miranda was certain they did, but how?
* * *
IN LIEU OFa proper evidence container, Miranda placed the toothpick in a sandwich bag from one of the kitchen drawers, to a surprised look from Geri.
“Tidying up?” Geri asked.
“Indeed. One toothpick at a time,” said Miranda sunnily. Better not to let anyone know. She would hand the evidence over to forensics when they arrived tomorrow, though Miranda already knew who the toothpick belonged to: the recently deceased Kane Hamady. What she didn’t know was why it had been down in the basement.
As Miranda washed her hands in the sink, she pondered again the puzzle of the missing page from an unknown manuscript, and an open book shot through by an arrow into the chest of a dead man. It all fit together, she knew it; if only she could figure out how. Plus the ankles. There had been something about the position of Kane Hamady’s ankles that had seemed off. Ankles, arrows, and open books. It was enough to make a girl’s head spin.
When Edgar and Miranda returned to the main hall after their foray to the furnace room, Deputy Andrew was in trouble. Serious trouble. An insurrection was brewing, and he was struggling to contain it.
“Settle down, people!”
“What the hell is going on?” Edgar wanted to know.
“If only Ned had given me a badge when he deputized me! And a baton. Maybe some pepper spray. It’s like they don’t take my authority seriously,” Andrew hissed.
“You can’t hold us against our will!” Ray shouted. “I’m a cop. I know my rights.”
“A cop. Sure you are,” Wanda scoffed. “And I’m the Queen of Sheba.”
In response, Ray flashed his badge. “Retired, but still a cop. An active consultant with the LAPD,” he said, to major badge envy from Andrew.
“How come he gets to carry one?” Andrew asked Miranda. “He’s not even an active member of the force anymore.”
Nor was Ray the only angry author there.
“They whisked away the last of the booze before we could even drink it,” Wanda complained, firing an accusatory look Geri’s way. “What’s the point of sticking around now? I’m going back to our B&B. Call me a cab, preferably one that doesn’t smell of horseshit.”
“You can’t leave!” said Andrew. “Not till we get authorization from Chief Buckley and Officer Holly.”
Atticus, stammering, stepped forward to challenge the legalities of it. “Unlawful confinement. That’s—that’s unacceptable.”
“What are you still doing here, Atticus?” Edgar asked. “You can go anytime you want. You don’t have to stay.”
He blushed. “The authors have retained me as their legal representative in this matter.”
“Don’t you usually do real estate?”
“The law is the law is the law,” he insisted.
“But it’s not, it’s not, it’s not,” Edgar countered. “I hope they at least agreed to pay you a retainer.”
Atticus, chest out, said, “I have agreed to handle the case on a contingency basis. My fees shall be—shall be de-deducted from the final settlement as a percent of the award.”
“And what is 10 percent of zero?” Edgar asked. Facing the throng of authors, he said, “Be patient, everyone. Relax. Look around. Maybebuy a book. Or two. You are in a bookstore—one would think you’d be happy to be here.”
“A bookstore with a body in it,” Wanda pointed out.
“Adeadbody,” Lachlan added (redundantly).
“A dead body of a dear colleague and friend,” Ray Valentine noted.
