Page 58 of Killer on the First Page
“Every John D. Ross novel features the name of a flower in the title. A treasure trove of first editions shows up, and Middlemist arranges an author event where one of the authors is killed—in a room full of John D. Ross novels. Coincidence? Possibly. But don’t you think it strange?”
Coincidences are always strange.“Perhaps.”
“You’re right. It’s probably nothing.” Speaking quietly so no one other than Andrew would overhear, Penny said, “Before I go to bed, I wanted to ask you if you’d had a chance to think over my offer. I would love to have you on board.”
There was definitely a “queenly quality” to Penny Fenland, in deportment and stature both. A long way from her days onPastor Fran Investigates.
“I have a call with the producers tomorrow,” Penny told Miranda. “May I tell them that you’re at least considering it?”
“You may,” said Miranda.
“Wonderful!” Penny leaned in to give Miranda a hug. “Good night!”
As soon as she’d taken her leave, Miranda finally shared the news with Andrew.
He had only one question: “Considering it?Considering it?What is there to consider?” He continued, frantically, “It’s a starring role in your own series. Why would you even— Oh, wait. Is this a tactic? Are you playing hard to get?”
Miranda didn’t answer because even Miranda didn’t know.
“That’s brilliant!” said Andrew, assuming Miranda was being clever and canny, not conflicted and torn. “Make ’em come to you. I mean, theydidcome to you—but make them even more determined to have you sign. Everyone else is playing checkers, but you’re playing three-dimensional chess. I love it!”
Alas, not checkers, not chess, not even tic-tac-toe. She was caught in a game of solitaire with two mutually exclusive cards to play. Diamonds or hearts? LA or Happy Rock? And as for Edgar, her non-husband, her ex-husband, her still-as-yet-husband, was he the harlequin-esque joker, the wild card in the deck?
Deflecting the issue, Miranda refocused her mind on the matter at hand. “Darling, I think it is time we conversed with the other authors about their possible connections to the departed Mr. Hamady.”
On that, she pivoted, arms out in a perfect “It is I!” gesture... to a largely empty room. It was like coming onstage for another ovation after the audience had left the theater.
Chapter Fifteen
Luckless Lachlan Says Good Night
Perhaps worried that Deputy Andrew might force them to sit back down and expand on their previous statements, the remaining authors—Inez, Ray, and Wanda—had decorously slipped away to their separate rooms on the second floor, leaving only Luckless Lachlan behind.
“I thought you were staying at the Hideaway Motel,” Miranda said.
“What, I can’t hang out with my colleagues?”
“They’ve all gone to bed, apparently.”
He ignored her, pretended to be fascinated by a large, dour portrait of Hiram Henry that hung over the mantel.
“You’ve done a lovely job with this place,” said Miranda when Geri of the pink tracksuit appeared.
“Thanks! It took a lot of work just getting it up to code. It was a pretty big undertaking. It’s been very—” She waited for her other half to step in, finish the sentence, then realized that Gerry wasn’t there.
“Expensive?” Miranda offered.
“Yes! Beautiful, but expensive. Like owning a Pekingese. We even had to install outdoor stairs running along the back of the building past each room as a fire route, because—” She paused, again expecting her hubby to finish her sentence; when he didn’t, she pushed on.“—every room needs to have its own exit if you have more than five bedrooms in a commercial property. That’s the law! We tried to explain that the original Hiram Henry House didn’t have a fire escape, which might explain the Great Tragedy of 1892, and that by adding a back platform, although constructed with rustic wood and aesthetically pleasing, the building would be rendered historically—” She waited.
“Inaccurate?” said Miranda, filling it in for her.
“Exactly! But that’s the law! And the law is the law.”
Hard to argue with that.
Miranda thought about the attic she stayed in at Bea’s. No fire escape. Narrow stairs. One window that stuck when you tried to open it. A single blue spruce in the backyard. Worst case, Miranda could leap across to that, shimmy down. She’d jumped from enough windows as Pastor Fran that she figured she’d be up for it, even without a stunt double or a safety harness to save her.
“This entire arrangement is as lovely as a movie set,” said Miranda. “It’s like the location for a costume drama or an ensemble murder mystery.”
