Page 62 of Killer on the First Page
Geri poured the tea, and Sheryl said, with a weary weight, “One author dead, another on the lam, and a third who is currently tramping about in the snowdrifts of Canada.”
“Lawrence Block still hasn’t shown up?”
A tired shake of the head. “Was last seen on his way to Gladstone, Manitoba.Happy Rock, I told him. In Oregon!”
Miranda laid a sympathetic hand on Sheryl Youngblut’s arm. “You need an assistant, dear. It’s too much on your shoulders. I know I would be lost without Andrew.”
“Thank you,” said Andrew.
“Oh, but it’s true, darling. It absolutely is.” Regret came to Miranda’s eyes. “I remember the many personal assistants I had during my time on TV, how monstrous I could be. I never appreciated them.” Then, with sudden resolve: “You need to contact your employer. SR Promotions, is it? Tell them—nay,demandof them—that they hire you an assistant. Someone to share the burden.”
Sheryl’s gaze welled with tears. “You don’t understand. IamSR Promotions! There is no one else. It’s just me. I’m fighting to keep my head above water, and there is no one to throw me a lifeline. I’m on my own. SR Promotions? It’s a one-woman operation. Might as well be my name!” She closed her eyes, held her head in her hands. “It’s just me.”
“But it’s not you. It’s a company, and anyway,” said Miranda, “if it really were your name, it would have been SYPromotions.”
She looked up, confused. “SY?”
“Your name—Sheryl Youngblut. If it were your initials, it would be SY. What does SR stand for?”
“Uh, nothing. Nothing in particular, just random letters.”
“And Middlemist Marketing?” asked Miranda. “The other company named on the poster. They hired you?”
“In manner of speaking.” Sheryl’s voice grew soft. “I don’t really have a close relationship with them.”
Another creak on the stairs, heavier, less clandestine than Sheryl Youngblut’s, was followed by theclump, clump, clumpof—
“Ms. Stobol!” said Geri. “Won’t you join us? We’re having refreshments.”
“Booze?”
“Tea.”
“Ah.”
The stocky Ms. Stobol settled herself into the settee across from Miranda. “Couldn’t sleep. Was thinking about our old friend Kane.”
“Nigel, you mean to say.”
They turned to look at Officer Holly.
She said, “When I checked his pockets, when I went through his wallet for ID, it seems Kane Hamady was his pen name. His real name? Nigel Hawthorne III.”
“Of course,” said Wanda, brusquely. “He was Nigel, but we knew him as Kane.”
“How undeniably odd,” said Miranda.
The oddity was not the name, but the numerical value attached to said name. Kane’s nemesis had been Fairfax Hughes DePoyIII. What were the odds that two different authors would both be so-and-so the Third? It seemed astronomically small.
Wanda bristled. “What’s so odd about that? Authors often use pen names, especially with series novels. You think my name is really Wanda Stobol? Hell, I’m the sixth Wanda Stobol so far. We’re like 007. The players change, but the name remains. Oh, don’t look so shocked!” she said at Officer Holly’s shovel-smacked expression.
Holly’s bottom lip was quivering with aSay-it-ain’t-so, Joeexpression. “But—but I read your books when I was a little girl.”
“No. You didn’t. You readWanda Stobol’sbooks. Not mine. The series has been going since 1956. You really think I’ve been writing since then? I wasn’t born till 1972, so that would be a feat. The books you read were probably written by the fourth Wanda Stobol, what’s-her-face, the teacher from Maine. That would have been about when you were in middle school. You think Franklin W. Dixon wrote all those Hardy Boys books? There was no Franklin W. Dixon, only aseries of ghostwriters hired by the publisher. Last time I checked, I think there have been nine different Franklin W. Dixons. And don’t get me started on Nancy Drew.”
With a waver in her voice, Officer Holly said, “I won’t have it. Not another word about Nancy Drew! I named my kids George and Nancy after those books.”
Miranda was worried Officer Holly might draw her service revolver on the obnoxious Ms. Stobol.
