Page 55 of Killer on the First Page
“It was a prop, of course, with foam-tipped arrows, but even then it was very bulky and difficult to aim. So where is Fairfax’s crossbow, Andrew?”
“He threw it away as he ran, I would imagine.”
Scoop Bannister was interviewing the peeved authors while their legal advisor Atticus Lawson tried frantically to stop her. “No comment! No comment! Don’t talk to the press.” And Penny Fenland was still waiting for an answer from Miranda.
On Andrew’s announcement that he’d received an “all clear” from Ned to let them return to the B&B, Geri and Gerry immediately began ferrying trays and food containers to their Econoline van, while the publicist Sheryl arranged a taxi for the authors.
“We’ll see you back at BB&B!” said Gerry as his wife slid the van door closed.
As for the “taxi,” the smell arrived before the vehicle.
“God, no,” said Ray. “Not again.”
They piled back into the converted school bus of the Manure Transport & Tour Company and were trundled off down the hill toward Laurel Point. This left only Scoop Bannister and Atticus Lawson, and they departed soon after.
“I thought they’d never leave,” said Edgar. “What a night! I hope Doc gets here soon to collect the body. I won’t be able to sleep knowing there is a dead man in the bookstore.”
Miranda balked at this. “You slept through the LA earthquake, remember? Our house almost slid down the hill.”
“Your house,” he said quietly.
“It wasourhouse, Edgar.”
“You paid for it. I just lived there.”
Years later, when the money and Edgar were gone, Miranda had rented a room in a run-down apartment building below the Hollywood Hills, where she could just see their former house cantilevered above. At night sometimes, the sound of parties would drift down... And now, here she was in Happy Rock. She shook off the feeling ofthe past tapping on her shoulder. The night had ended on an off note, muted and melancholy.
“I think it’s time we went home, back to Bea’s,” Miranda said to Andrew.
“If Ned asks for them, I’ll leave the statements I collected here on the table,” Andrew said, and he went to gather Miranda’s jacket and his own from the front closet.
“I’m sorry, Miranda,” said Edgar. “The comment about the house. That was uncalled-for.”
Uncalled-for, but true. Had Edgar ever felt at home in LA, even at the height of their success?
“May we borrow the Jeep?” she asked.
A vague wave of the hand gave his assent. He was lost in memories of his own.
Outside, the stars shimmered—faint and trembling, barely there. The tall stands of Douglas fir beyond the town were frosted with ice, ineffably beautiful and ghostly in the dark. The evergreens of Oregon vs. the palm trees of LA. Two trees, two worlds, one heart caught between them.
“Are you okay?” Andrew asked, hugging himself for warmth.
“I’m not sure,” said Miranda.
“You’ll drive, right?” said Andrew, still shaken from his earlier adventures with a stick shift.
“I shall!” said Miranda, hiking her jacket and gown as she slid into the driver’s seat. “But we aren’t going to Bea’s.”
“We aren’t?”
“Of course not! We have a killer to catch.”
Chapter Fourteen
What Will Become of Us?
In 1887, the itinerant fur trader and former costermonger Hiram Henry arrived in Tillamook Bay, having departed Louisiana for fresher pastures (or been chased out by an angry mob, depending on which historical source one consulted; the organizers of the town’s annual Hiram Henry Days naturally preferred the former). He arrived with a single Spanish coin, orpicayune,in his pocket. From this coin, Hiram built his fortune as a newspaperman—that, and illegal fur trading, though this was never really highlighted during the Hiram Henry Days celebrations, either.
