by Cynthia Kuhn
I decided to grit my teeth, summon my most professional self, and pretend they weren’t completely beastly. Some wine would help with that.
We had a round of drinks and speculated about what could have happened to Ellis. After an hour or so, Meredith received a text. I watched her face crumple and knew Ellis was gone even before she told us. Someone had hastened his demise, she said, judging from the bar of metal they’d found underneath his body and the bar-sized gash in his head.
Little by little, despite the efforts toward discretion on the hotel’s part, word got around. The circle at our table in the bar grew, with the addition of more and more scholars who had questions. No one seemed to have any idea who could have done it.
Candace eventually joined us, setting her drink down too hard on the table. It sloshed over. I handed her the paper napkin from beneath my empty glass, which she acknowledged with a small smile. She dabbed at the spill with one hand while she wiped at the tears welling in her eyes with the other.
“Were you very close?” I asked.
She rummaged in her bag and retrieved a tissue, which she used to pat her nose delicately. “I’ve known him for years, ever since I was hired at Fairlake. And working on this book together—it strengthened our relationship, you know?”
“So you were close?”
“Do you mean...” she appeared vaguely shocked. “No. It wasn’t romantic. I mean, first of all, he’s almost seventy. I’m only forty-one.”
“That’s not what I meant—”
She tapped a long fingernail on the table. “Second, I’ve been married for ten years. Ellis was just a friend. But a dear man.”
I nodded. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” She wiped at her eyes again and swore softly under her breath. “I just can’t seem to stop crying.”
“It’s understandable, Candace.” Wanting to give her some privacy, I offered to buy her a refill of her vodka soda, which she accepted, and I went up to the counter. When I looked back, she was biting her expensive manicure to shreds.
Later, I read my paper aloud in my room. I was glad that it had been finalized before I came to Tattered Star Ranch; there was no way I could have written—or even edited—it, considering the state of mind I was in now. But I’d worked hard before I left home, carefully developing what I hoped was a thought-provoking argument about Isabella Dare’s use of symbolism. Reading the familiar words aloud was steadying, even comforting, after the events of the evening.
When I reached the end, I checked the timer. Perfect. We were allotted fifteen minutes each, and I was just under. All four of us would give presentations, then there would be a question-and-answer period at the end. I hoped that our session would be animated. On previous panels I’d been on, most people read their papers aloud. A few had talked from notes or lists, but while some were a triumph, others were a total disaster. It depended on the skill of the speaker. The audience was a factor too—they may listen extremely closely or barely at all, depending upon their level of interest in the topic.
The nerves hadn’t kicked in yet, but I was experiencing the sort of awkward hopefulness that typically appeared when I attended a gathering of scholars. You never know whom you might meet. Someone who could change your career trajectory. Or someone who might challenge your paper’s thesis in front of a room full of professors. It could go either way.
A soft knock interrupted my musings.
When I pulled opened the heavy wooden door, Lex gave me a weary smile. His tie was loosened and his notepad was sticking out of his suit pocket at a crooked angle.
“Professor.”
“Detective.”
He gave me a quick kiss and went over to the bed, where he sat down.
“Are you okay?” I tried to measure his energy with a glance.
He shrugged. “Always a tough day when we lose someone.”
I nodded and sat down next to him, rubbing his back.
Lex gave me a grateful look and pulled his tie the rest of the way off.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No, thanks.” He fixed his blue eyes on mine. “We don’t know much. Yet.”
I didn’t tell him that word on the street—a.k.a professors in the bar—had already delivered information about what had happened to Ellis. Lex obviously needed a break.
“Just want to sit here with you.”
“We can do that.” I handed him the tv remote.
He chose a sports channel and moved up so as to be able to lean against the headboard. I scooted up next to him and put my head on his shoulder.
I woke up in the same position, with both arms asleep and a giant crick in my neck. Grimacing, I eased myself away, then did some stretching in the hopes of getting my blood moving. A shower helped a little.
When I emerged, feeling halfway human again, Lex was gone and there was a note saying he’d call later and he hoped I’d have a great day. It also told me to be careful.
That was lovely but I didn’t travel in the same circles as Ellis Gardner, so although I was sad about what had happened to him, I wasn’t too worried about danger coming my way.
Then it struck me that perhaps I did travel in the same circles as Ellis Gardner, sort of, given that we’d shared a table at dinner last night.
Now I was a bit more worried.
I pulled on a black jacket and long skirt, braided my dark hair, and added some dangly silver earrings. A quick swipe of lip gloss and I was ready to head downstairs for the breakfast meeting with my editor.
It would be tricky to speak to Meredith about my concerns, since she and the Raleighs were, according to the sisters, chums from school. I’d have to be my most democratic. In the elevator, I tried to think of ways to raise the issue and came up short. I’d have to wing it.
With a soft chime, the doors opened, and I headed around the corner toward the restaurant. The Path’s End was popular with locals and guests alike for its delicious, ever-changing menu and for its terrace overlooking the Rocky Mountains. Meredith was at a table next to the window, studying papers stacked neatly in front of her. The jagged peaks in the background were bathed in sunlight but retained snow.
When I arrived, she gestured to a silver carafe resting on the white tablecloth. “Would you like some coffee?”
“More than anything in the world.”
She smiled and poured me a cup while I stowed my bag on the seat next to me and unfolded the orange napkin on my plate, which had been fashioned into a swan.
Or a duck. Something birdlike, anyway.
I took a long drink of the coffee, feeling its rejuvenating effects immediately. A smiling blonde woman in a pinstriped vest took my order and melted away, as Meredith picked up the papers and tapped them a few times on the table to align them before sliding the stack into the briefcase next to her chair.
“How are you doing? Any word on what happened to Ellis?”
She shook her head and tightened her lips. Her suit was a dull brick shade, which emphasized the redness of her eyes. I wondered if she’d slept.
“I’m so sorry again, Meredith.”
She took a sip of orange juice. “I appreciate that, thank you. Sorry I was a bit of a mess last night.”
“No apologies necessary. It must have been awful to find Ellis like that.”
“It was. Hopefully we’ll have some answers before too long.”
“Did you know him well?”
“Just as an editor on this project. He and Candace did come to the office a few times for meetings with Richmond, but they did a lot of the work via email or elsewhere on campus. From what I could tell, he was a smart, hard-working man. Not the most friendly person I’ve ever met, but Richmond admired him. I think they grew up together or something.”
“Any idea about who could have wanted to hurt him?”
Meredith stared past my shoulder, her gaze unfocused. “No idea at all, but I’m wracking my brain.” Her eyes wandered back to meet mine and she straightened up. “Shall we get to the matter at hand? First of all, we’re very excited about your book. Such a wonderful subject. Second, congratulations on being a finalist for the New Voices award.”
“Thanks so much, Meredith.” Every muscle relaxed just a little. Ever since hearing about the Raleighs’ book, I’d slipped gradually into the worst-case scenario.
She bent back to her briefcase and withdrew a leather portfolio. Removing a single sheet, she handed it to me across the table. “Here’s the marketing plan. Please take a look and let me know if you have any questions.”
I studied the schedule as the server returned, moving sideways to allow her to set down a white plate holding a slice of quiche and fresh fruit in front of me and a grapefruit half with a cherry on top in front of Meredith.
That’s why she was shaped like a model and I...wasn’t.
“I’m excited about this project, Lila. The way you described Isabelle Dare as a cross between Shirley Jackson and Agatha Christie—with a twist—caught my attention right away,” Meredith said, loading her spoon with the cherry. “How did you become interested in her writing?”
I told her the story of finding Isabella’s books in a dusty box at a New York City bookstore during grad school, reading and falling in love with them, then fighting to persuade my professors to allow me to write a dissertation on an author they’d never heard of. That had taken months of convincing, but eventually, they’d given me permission and I’d spent the next few years writing the dissertation that would become the foundation for the current book.
She nodded approvingly. “I knew you’d have an interesting discovery story.”
“Oh, I like that phrase, ‘discovery story.’” I rested the page on the corner of the table and picked up my fork to sample the quiche, which was delicious. “Did you ask Selene the same thing?”
I was, needless to say, eager to hear the answer.
“Yes. Her story was not as remotely interesting as yours. She said she heard someone give a paper at the Modern Language Association conference two years ago and was inspired to research further.”
That was a lie. No one had presented on Dare at the MLA conference. I’d spent hours combing the session lists each year to see if anyone had done that very thing. I debated telling Meredith but decided not to say anything.
She dug into her grapefruit and expertly extracted a section. After she swallowed the triangle of fruit, I leaned forward.
“I do have one question...” Might as well get it over with.
“Yes?” She set the spoon down and looked up at me, a pleasant expression on her face.
“Would it be possible to...” I trailed off. This was harder than I thought. I didn’t want to sound as though I were complaining about her friends. Even though that was the gist of it.
I had to try another tack.
One that didn’t name the Raleighs outright.
I shifted in my chair. “Remember last night, when the schedule was changed?”
“Yes...” She went for another grapefruit section.
“Well, does it need to be changed?”
She paused. “Do you have a problem with it?”
“Well...” I couldn’t think of a way to finish the sentence that conveyed Yes! I’ve worked toward this for years and they just showed up and cut in line! Who does that? It’s completely unfair! without using any of those words, and I ended up shrugging.
So far, this was going super well.
Meredith regarded me thoughtfully.
I stabbed at a strawberry, my face aflame.
She slid her grapefruit to the side of the table and laced her fingers together in front of her. “Lila, I’m your editor. We need to be able to trust each other, so please speak freely.”
I hesitated. “It’s a bit delicate.”
“Is it about Simone and Selene?”
I stared at her.
She laughed. “When you’ve been around them for decades, as I have, you know that it’s usually about Simone and Selene. They have a way of steamrolling over everyone else once they get their minds on something. And between you and me, what they want often involves what someone else has already achieved. Are you aware of that dynamic?”
“I am aware.”
She continued briskly. “Believe me, I’ve been in their crosshairs before too. I recognized the signs. They’re relentless.”
I wanted to hug her but refrained.
“Now. Straight talk. I know you are an expert on Isabella Dare. The depth of your knowledge is clear in the book, especially when you put it next to theirs.” She frowned. “Maybe that’s not fair. I haven’t actually seen the second half of their book, which Selene is writing. I’ve only seen Simone’s half, which discusses Brontë as a gothic writer and sets up the context for the comparison to Dare, with only very fleeting mention of Isabella. Their proposal indicates that Selene will be developing connections in the second half. She’s supposed to deliver it to us this weekend. So I haven’t seen much specificity. Yet, anyway. I remain hopeful.”
I nodded.
“But I know that it matters in terms of scholarship which book comes out first. I’m sorry that we didn’t discuss this more last night, but they—not to put too fine a point on it—basically blindsided us at dinner. I was more focused on the logistics of changing the schedule initially than on the implications of the request. Plus I was nervous about not saying anything to ruin the news about the McMaster book launch and the award. So I was distracted. Please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” I hastened to reassure her. “And thank you for the nomination—I’m still stunned.”
She smiled. “I’m happy for you. Anyway, it struck me after dinner what seemed to be going on, and how this would affect you, so I mentioned it to Richmond. We were going to talk with you after the book sale, but then when we went to the book room...” she shook her head.
“Ellis.”
“Yes.”
Meredith looked down at the table for a long moment, then raised her head. “In any case, rest assured that if you’re interested, we are more than ready to publish yours in August. The month before theirs. We are way ahead on your project, anyway. I mean, we’ve already done the proofs. The least we could do is shift the print date.”
My heart leapt. I pointed to the sheet she’d given me.
“We’ll adjust that schedule too. Hanover won’t mind.”
“Thank you, Meredith. I...I don’t know how to express how grateful I am.”
“No need.”
“I was so afraid—”
“That I was in cahoots with Simone and Selene?” She grinned.
“Exactly.”
Meredith lowered her voice. “No way. Has Simone made your life miserable at Stonedale?”
“In a thousand ways.”
She nodded at my plate. “Let’s enjoy our breakfasts and exchange horror stories about the Raleighs.”
So we did.
Chapter 5
I gave my paper on Isabella Dare shortly after breakfast. The three other professors who gave papers were fascinating—well, two of them were. The last professor, on the other hand, read so softly that none of us could hear what he was saying. From the first wave of This Is Excruciatingly Awkward that swept the room, through the Seriously What Is He Doing Up There stage, into the final We Have All Given Up Hope Of Understanding phase, we rode it out valiantly together and clapped in relief when it was over.
Our question-and-answer period was lively, and no one hurled any questions at me that I couldn’t answer. That’s always a possibility, given that conference panel questions can range from a genuine inquiry presented by an interested listener, to a rambling monologue des
igned to highlight the expertise of the asker that in no way requires your participation, to an outright challenge from someone who feels territorial or just enjoys skewering other scholars.
As the audience moved toward the exit, several people came up and told me that they’d enjoyed my paper. Couldn’t ask for anything more than that.
Selene and Simone had attended but hadn’t made eye contact; they’d been scribbling notes the whole time. I wasn’t sure what to think about that, but I knew it probably wasn’t something beneficial.
At least to me.
But my paper was done. Now I only had to worry about the surprise-you’re-on-another-panel event that had been scheduled for Saturday. I hoped they’d give us more details before we walked into the room, but who knew what the plan was. I should have asked Meredith, but I’d been so focused on delicately presenting my argument for changing the schedule that I didn’t have any remaining bandwidth to accommodate anything else.
After packing up my bag, I walked across the crowded hallway and into the lobby, with the goal of buying a latte to fortify me for the next session. I had almost reached the conference attendees waiting for their coffee fix when I saw Simone and Selene speed up in order to get in line ahead of a white-haired woman who was moving slowly and determinedly in that direction. They raced past her so quickly that she was knocked off balance, and I rushed forward to grab her arm and help her right herself. Then I invited her to go ahead of me.
“Thank you, dear.” Her green eyes were similar in shade to my own and she seemed oddly familiar. “Thought I was going down for a moment there.”
“Are you okay?” Despite her cheery tone, I was concerned.
“I’m fine,” she said, chuckling. She tugged her yellow cardigan down over a long, flowered skirt that almost reached her blue sneakers and smoothed her white hair back into a neat bun. “It just gets a little harder to stay upright when you get on in years, you know. I’m not usually this slow, but the polish on this floor is a fall waiting to happen, so I’m just being careful.”