"Okay, make that two people."
"And Tara, the girl who rented you the place – what abouther?"
"All right." She bit her lip. "Two and a half then."
"Why the half?" I asked.
"Because," she said with a laugh, "if you keep going, I'll be up to a dozen. And that's just too depressing to consider."
Funny. She didn't look depressed.
And now I was only more intrigued. "A dozen, huh? Who?"
"Nobody in particular," she said. "I'm just saying, you find bad people wherever you go." She brightened. "But good people, too. Like Anna."
I'd met Anna and couldn’t disagree.
Still, the conversation wasn't living up to my expectations. The more she talked, the more Iwantedher to talk –and, the moreIwanted to say in return.
The plan was backfiring, and I was just thinking of cutting my losses when she said, "How about you? Why'd you become a writer?"
"Better than working construction."
It was also better than following in my father's footsteps. He didn't create things. He destroyed them. Or stole them. But the topic of my father was strictly off-limits.
Becka said, "Oh come on. I answeredyourquestion."
"Yeah. And I answered yours, too."
"What? The construction thing?" She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. That doesn't count."
"Why not?"
"Because it was a total non-answer, the kind you give when you really don't want to say." She studied my face. "You do that a lot, you know."
Ididknow. But that was the point. "Hey, it wasn't a lie."
"Yeah, but it wasn't the whole truth either."
When I made no reply, she said, "All right, fine. But speaking of questions, I have one that's related to my job."
"All right. Go ahead."
"It's about your last assistant," she said. "Was she supposed to come along on the tour?"
I gave it some thought and settled on the simplest answer. "No. She was fired, remember?"
"Oh, stop it," Becka said. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. Let's say shehadn'tbeen fired. Would she be here right now?"
It was a dangerous question, and I considered several answers before settling on, "If you mean, was she going to support the tour, the answer's yes."
"Oh." Something in Becka's shoulders eased. "Well, that's good." But then her gaze narrowed. "Wait a minute. How many stops?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, there are like a hundred stops on the book tour. Was she planning to attend all of them?"
I didn't like the question. Still, I wasn't going to lie. "No."
