“She was angling for an in-depth interview with Yvonne,” Bill said, his reluctance to share the information almost palpable. “That's it.” He shrugged. “I told her no. Why would I do any favors for that barracuda after she trashed Yvonne's novel?”
Bill's explanation made sense, but Liss couldn't help but think there'd been more to his encounter with Jane. She had seen the expression of sheer panic on his face when Jane latched onto him at the reception.
Bill glanced at his watch. “I must go.” He started to scurry off without reclaiming his credit card.
“Mr. Stotz. Wait.”
For a moment, she thought he intended to keep going, but when she waved the plastic rectangle at him, he came back.
“Thanks,” he said, grabbing it. “Sorry, but I've got to run. There's, um, a panel I need to be at.” On his way out, he nearly bowled over a small, round person just coming in.
“Hi, there,” the woman said, coming straight to Liss but nodding at Angie, too. “Are either of you two ladies working on a novel of your own?”
Liss laughed and shook her head.
Angie said, “Not a chance. Too much work involved.”
“And that's exactly how I stay in business. I'm Ruth Merchason. My friends call me Ruthie.” She pulled a stack of business cards out of her purse and handed one to each of them. “If you ever need my services, just give me a call.”
She abandoned them for a group of conference-goers who'd just entered the dealers' room, passing out more cards and brightening when one of them admitted she'd been trying to write a mystery of her own. Liss glanced at the card in her hand. It read:
RUTH MERCHASON
,
BOOK DOCTOR
.
“What the heck is a book doctor?” Angie wanted to know.
“I think she edits manuscripts. Fixes them up so they'll sell to a publisher.”
“Huh. And here I thought the people who wrote books knew how to do all that stuff for themselves.”
Liss thought she detected a hint of sarcasm in the comment, but a potential customer appeared and she let it go.
Many of those who stopped to look at Liss's wares and shop at the adjacent tables, where Angie's selection of mystery novels was displayed, seemed unaware of Jane Nedlinger's sudden death. Or, if they had heard about an accident, they weren't discussing it. All the talk was of panels, writers, and books. Liss supposed that a few of the attendees must have read Jane's blog, and some might miss her daily dose of vitriol, but her presence at the First Annual Maine-ly Cozy Con had not been general knowledge, and her absence appeared to create nary a ripple of concern in the convivial atmosphere of the conference.
Nola stopped by the dealers' room again just before three o'clock that afternoon.
“I never did think to ask you last night,” Liss said after the other woman had admired the offerings spread out on the Emporium's tablesâeverything from clan crest badges to canned haggis. “What exactly did Jane Nedlinger say to you at the reception to upset you so much?”
To Liss's dismay, Nola's eyes instantly filled with tears. “I can't talk about it,” she whispered. “It's just too awful!” Without another word, she turned and fled.
“Nice going, Liss,” Angie hissed.
Liss would have gone after Nola to apologize and make sure she was okay, but the two o'clock panels had just let out and there was a sudden influx of conference-goers. Fastening a professional salesperson smile on her face, Liss silently reviewed what she knew about Nola Ventress. It did not take her long to realize that all the facts did not add up. Here was a woman who had single-handedly organized an entire conference and yet, last night at the MSBA meeting, she'd acted like a timid little mouse ... until she got her second wind and decided to put both Doug and Stu in their places. And nowâtears for Jane Nedlinger? Something very odd was going on.
Liss's gaze fell on one of the books on Angie's tables, a used copy of
The Body in the Library
. Liss frowned at the classic Miss Marple title. Agatha Christie's famous sleuth appeared to be a dithery old lady on first acquaintance, but she had a sharp mind and inevitably solved the murder before the police did. It followed that people in real life could be just as contradictory, so maybe Nola wasn't really that unusual, after all.
Besides, she reminded herself, Jane Nedlinger might be dead, but she hadn't been murdered. Her death had been nothing more sinister than a convenient accident.
But some people were certainly reacting to it strangely! Nola wasn't the only one. Bill Stotz had tried to deny knowing Jane. Had the blogger threatened himâor his clientâin some way, as she had Liss? Surely a piece on murder in Moosetookalook hadn't been the only story Jane was working on.
Liss was glad when a customer with a question about tartans distracted her. She did not want to think about real murders. Only the fictional kind.
At a little before four in the afternoon, Margaret shooed Liss out of the dealers' room. “You've been stuck here all day. I'll take over for you until we close at five-thirty.”
“You don't have toâ”
“Of course I don't have to. I want to. And we've already discussed my spelling you when I can so that you can attend a few of the panels. So go. Enjoy yourself.”
“You'd better take her up on the offer,” Angie advised, glancing up from making change. “If you don't, I will.”
“I could use a break,” Liss admitted. She and Angie had traded off minding each other's tables to allow for visits to the restroom, but other than that, they'd both been behind their tables in the dealers' room for the last seven hours straight.
Liss glanced around. The place was already emptying out again, as it did every time a new set of panels began. “I'll be back,” she promised, “to help with the final book-signing session and to close up.”
While Liss tried to decide which of two panel offerings to attend, she detoured into the fan lounge, where coffee was available. Little clumps of people were gathered there. Extra chairs had been pulled up to one table so that a full dozen conference-goers could share the same conversation. Laughter issued from the group in loud, staccato bursts. If those people hadn't been fast friends before the conference, Liss had a feeling that they were now.
She recognized a few faces, but she wasn't in the mood to join anyone. She selected an unoccupied table and sat down with her coffee to study the program. One of the four o'clock panels was a discussion of short stories. Since she didn't read many of those, having a strong preference for novels, her decision was easy to make.
With a few minutes to spare, Liss flipped through the program to the panelist bios. They were brief, only a paragraph in length and therefore much too short to be very useful. Liss thought the authors looked very glamorous in their publicity photos. Some had done so much with hair and makeup before they had their pictures taken that she'd never have recognized them in real life.
She was just polishing off her coffee and watching fellow attendees drift off toward the meeting rooms when a flash of color caught her eye. There, off in the corner, unnoticed until the room began to clear out, sat Stu Burroughs. It had been his bright red tie that had attracted her attention.
Stu didn't notice her. He was too intent upon his conversation with Nola Ventress. Stu was going to be the auctioneer for the charity auction that evening, Liss remembered, but she didn't think that was what the two of them were discussing. Stu was rigid with tension, shoulders stiff and hands clenched into fists on the tabletop. Nola's face was devoid of expression, but very pale. Whatever Stu was saying to her, she didn't like hearing it.
This is none of your business
, Liss told herself, but she couldn't make herself leave the fan lounge, not even after everyone else had gone.
“Never going to happen, Stu,” Nola said, and abruptly rose from the table.
“You'll regret it, Nola.”
She turned her back on him and walked rapidly to the exit.
“I'm telling you, you will regret it!” Stu started to follow Nola, then checked when he caught sight of Liss. His steps faltered. Looking embarrassed, he nodded to her. “Afternoon, neighbor.”
“Stu, is something wrong?”
“Of course not. Nola and I were just clarifying some last-minute details for tonight's festivities.” He sauntered closer, adopting a casual attitude that didn't fool her for a minute. “Are you coming to the auction? We've got some dandy items up for sale. You can bid on the chance to have a character in a book named after you. You could end up as the murder victim. Or the killer.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” She frowned as she realized that something Stu had said at last night's meeting had been nagging at her all day. When he'd promised her that they'd scotch Jane Nedlinger's plans to trash the town, he'd almost sounded as if he'd come up with a plan to accomplish that feat. “Stu, can I ask you a question?”
“Fire away.” He flashed the good-natured grin he usually reserved for ski shop customers.
“Had you ever heard of Jane Nedlinger before last night?”
The grin vanished. “What are you really asking me, Liss?”
“Well, Stu, you were pretty determined to put a stop to her blog. It almost seemed ... personal.”
“Soâwhat? You're wondering if I came up here to the hotel after the meeting, kidnapped her, and threw her off a cliff? Do I look like an idiot?”
She had to smile at the expression of outrage on his face. “No, of course not. And when you put it that way, it does sound ridiculous. I'm sorry. I'm just trying to piece things together in my head. I mean, the last thing we needed here in Moosetookalook was another death, even an accidental one, and her fall was just so ... opportune.”
He glowered at her. “Trust me, as much as I wanted to find a way to get rid of that Nedlinger woman, I wouldn't have murdered her.” With a harsh laugh, he added, “And give me some credit. If I ever do decide to kill somebody, I'll have the decency to hide the body where it will never be found.”
His casual promise gave Liss a bone-deep chill. As she watched him leave, she wondered if she really knew him as well as she thought she did.
What does it matter?
she asked herself.
There was no murder. Jane Nedlinger's death was an accident. She fell.
But for some reason she seemed to be having trouble remembering that.
In desperate need of distraction, Liss headed for the panel she'd selected. Unfortunately, listening to Yvonne Quinlan and three other panelists talk about “How to Choose Your VictimâThe Fine Art of Taking Revenge on Real Life Irritants,” did nothing for her peace of mind.
Â
Dan entered the lobby of The Spruces forty-five minutes after leaving the Ruskin Construction work site at four-thirty. He'd stopped off at home long enough to shower and change his clothes. He had an evening free of responsibilities to the hotel and he planned to waylay Liss before the dealers' room closed and whisk her away for a couple of hours. Feeding her would also cheer her up, or so he hoped.
She had called him at work that morning to tell him about Jane Nedlinger's fatal accident. He'd felt nothing but relief at hearing that news. By the time he'd disconnected, however, he'd sensed that something about the situation was eating at his fiancée. If he knew Liss at all, she'd spent half the day brooding over the unexpected twist of fate.
Just to make sure of his facts, Dan took a moment to slip into his father's office and phone Jeff Thibodeau.
“Whatâyou think we can't have a plain old accident in this town?” the chief of police asked, chuckling.
“Call me a pessimist, but in light of what's happened in the past ...” He let his voice trail off.
“There were no signs of anything off-kilter at the scene,” Jeff said, suddenly serious. “Do you have any reason to believe there was foul play?”
Dan hesitated, wondering if he did. Would someone he knew have committed murder just to save the town's reputation? It didn't seem likely. “Not really. She was just the sort of woman who rubbed people the wrong way.”
“Met her, did you?”
“Briefly. Last night. I didn't like her.”
“You push her off the cliff?” Jeff's light tone made it clear he was kidding.
“Not hardly.”
“Know anyone who did?”
“No, Jeff.” Shaking his head at his own foolishness in making this call, Dan changed the subject and asked Jeff how his vacation had beenâthe chief had only just returned from a week spent visiting his wife's family in Pennsylvania. After hearing far more than he wanted to about mother-in-law troubles, Dan ended the call.
He returned to the lobby and headed for the stairs to the mezzanine, but the sound of raised voices at the check-in desk stopped him cold. His father looked and sounded royally pissed off, an indulgence Joe rarely allowed himself, especially when he was on duty.