Page 96 of Killer on the First Page
“SR Promotions did, yes.”
“But youareSR Promotions, are you not? You said,It might as well be my name. Why did you select Geri and Gerry’s establishment and not, say, the Duchess Hotel?”
“Well, it was in the name: theBetterB&B.”
A flash of red-haired anger from Miranda, who shot back at the owners of the inn, “That was exceedingly cruel, by the way.”
Geri was aghast. “Cruel?”
“The extra B,” said Miranda. “B forBetter. It was uncalled-for. Bea Maracle is a friend of mine.”
A hurt look from Gerry. “Betterview. Of the lighthouse. That’s what the extra B stands for. We were going to name it the BVB&B, but that was too—”
“—long.”
“We have a much better view of the lighthouse than the DuchessHotel. That’s a selling point. I mean, the lighthouse is right there.” He gestured to the tall windows of the main room, which faced Laurel Point, with the candy-striped lighthouse perfectly framed. “It’s even on our website: the view of the lighthouse, the inside of the lighthouse keeper’s quarters. We even have one of the keys.”
“Website?” said Miranda. “Those are public venues, are they not? Anyone might look at them?” She was still getting the hang of how things operated.
“That is sort of the—”
“—idea,” said Geri. “Prospective guests can have a 360-degree tour.”
Andrew stepped in to explain, once again, that, yes, anyone could view the inside of the lighthouse keeper’s quarters. As with the architectural plans Edgar had posted, people could peer inside, study the layout. Lay their trap...
“The heavy bolt on the inside of the door, the grandfather clock, even the beams would be visible? Someone might have studied the interior beforehand?”
“Absolutely.”
Before Miranda could fully parse the significance of this, the door to Hiram Henry House was thrown open on a swirl of cold air, and a figure stepped through, across the threshold and into the reception hall. A petite but formidable woman, she was dressed in a sharply cut waistcoat with a navy beret, silver hair swept back, her eyes an agate gleam behind oversized glasses.
There was an almost visceral reaction to her presence among the people assembled, a pulling back of souls into their shells.
Edgar looked over at her. “Hello, Helen.”
“Edgar, nice to see you again.” The wife of the late great John D. Ross scanned the room, spotted the publicist cowering in the corner. “Hello, Sheryl.”
And she was nine years old again. “Hi, Nana.”
Helen Ross turned to Geri and Gerry, held out a hand like a benediction. “Hello, I am Helen Ross of Middlemist Marketing.”
“The name on the poster,” said Ned. “The company that set this whole thing up.”
“One and the same.”
She extended her hand now to Ned, who looked like he might awkwardly try to kiss it or curtsy in her presence.
“Ray, Penny, Inez,” she said, ticking them off as if in a tally. “The circle certainly seems to have gotten smaller.”
“You’ve heard?” said Miranda.
“Three of John’s prize pupils being punted into the Great Beyond? How could I not?” A flinty smile. “Middlemist, that rarest of flowers. I gathered my bouquet of ingrate wordsmiths, brought them together one last time as per John’s wishes. Not at Cape Cod, but at your bookstore, Edgar.”
“Ourbookstore,” said Miranda.
“I stand corrected. I gave Cephus a heads-up, in case you’re wondering, Ray. Plus dear Larry. He’s not one of the Idaho Seven, of course, but he was such a good friend to John that I added him to the list. What the heck. Where is Lawrence, anyway?”
Sheryl said, “Last I heard, Mr. Block was somewhere in the tundra of northern Manitoba.”
