Dark Drizzles

by Jessica Beck

  The crowd mostly did as I asked, and I felt the emotion from the gesture, even though I’d been the one to initiate it. I tried to think of the man’s fans under the many names he’d written, and what they’d lost with his death. If writing was a kind of immortality, it didn’t do him a bit of good anymore. While his memory might live on for decades in his books, the man himself would not.

  I looked up after a suitable period of silence to see Cindy Faber standing front and center, staring me down with dead eyes. I had a feeling that she was going to keep doing that until I said something about her own tribute, so after thanking the crowd, I added, “One of Tom Johnson’s most devoted fans will be holding a public reading in the park after the conclusion of the donutmaking demonstration, so if you’re interested in participating, Cindy Faber will be holding it by the podium we’ve set up for her. Wave so they know who you are, Cindy.”

  The ardent fan looked startled, but pleased, by the attention and waved enthusiastically to the people behind her. Cindy tried to say something, but I wasn’t about to let her hijack my panel before it even had a chance to begin.

  “And now, please welcome our remaining panelists, mystery writer Hannah Thrush and cookbook writers Amanda Harrison and Hank Fletcher.”

  It was clear when they all came out together that only Amanda resented the truncated introduction, but that was just too bad. I couldn’t bring myself to extol the writing achievements of someone who might just be a cold-blooded killer and thief. Even if she was upset, it wasn’t like we were ever having this festival again, and if we did slip into a moment of insanity and decide to host a second round, Amanda’s name would surely not be on the marquee, so I had nothing to lose, and I meant for my questioning to reflect that. They all might have been evasive with Grace and me in private, but I was eager to see how they did when there was an audience hanging on their every word.

  “Hannah, would you care to make any opening remarks?” I asked her.

  “I just want to say what a blow it is to the mystery world to lose such a prolific author as Tom Johnson.”

  Were we just going to get a round of platitudes over a man no one on that stage would really miss? I couldn’t let that happen. “I’m sure the other panelists echo your sentiments as well,” I said, “but let’s try to put that behind us right now and focus on those folks who have come out to hear your thoughts about writing, both fiction and nonfiction. I’m curious about your books. You write culinary cozy mysteries, and yet you don’t have a single recipe in your novels.”

  “Well, the truth is, I couldn’t bake a cake or a cookie to save my life,” Hannah said, and the audience laughed with appreciation at her candor. “My publishing house begged me to include recipes. They even offered a ghostwriter for that aspect of it, but I refused. I believe my novels stand on their own merits, and those who require their fiction writers to include culinary skills as well aren’t doing anyone a service.” She pointed to Amanda and Hank on the other side of the stage. “There is no doubt in my mind that what my fellow authors on this stage do is just as difficult as what I tackle every day. People ask me where I get my ideas for my books all of the time, but that’s nothing compared to having to come up with new recipes constantly.” She turned to Hank and asked, “How do you do it?”

  Was Hannah trying to cut me out of the loop? I wasn’t sure I cared for it, but I was just as interested in his answer as she was, and a quick scan of the audience showed that they were involved as well.

  “I have an advantage. You see, I’ve been cooking with cast iron all my life. I learned watching my momma and my maw maw both, so you could say it’s been a part of me for as long as I can remember. Amanda’s the one who’s branched out into so many aspects of cooking. What’s your secret, Amanda?”

  This was getting out of hand, but I couldn’t exactly refuse to allow her to speak. She said with a frown, “I fail a lot, and I mean a lot!” That too got the crowd involved as they laughed at her statement. “You think I’m kidding, but for every single recipe I publish, there are at least six that never make it into the books. I’ve been tempted over the years to come out with something called Recipes That Are Sure to Fail, but I’m not sure anyone would buy it. One of my favorite mystery writers includes a failed recipe in her books every now and then, and to me, that’s absolutely hilarious. She’s honest about what she does, mistakes and triumphs alike.”

  “I know who you’re talking about,” Hannah said. “Would it surprise you to know that she’s really a man writing under a female pseudonym?”

  “Not really. Our late fellow panelist did the same thing himself. I for one have never had a problem with it. Have you?” The question was asked in a pointed manner, but Hannah was the one participant I wasn’t trying to put on the hot seat.

  “Not at all. It’s the story that matters, as far as I’m concerned. I don’t care who the narrator is, or the point-of-view character, if you like. I enjoy good writing, period.”

  “Good for you,” Hank said with an approving smile. Hannah didn’t return it, or even acknowledge it, and I took the awkward moment of silence to try to get command of the panel discussion back.

  “This next question is for Hank and Amanda,” I said. “Amanda, I know you’ve dipped a toe in the world of fiction, and I can’t imagine Hank not even considering it, given the popularity of cooking and baking in cozy mysteries these days. Picture yourself trying to solve Tom Johnson’s murder, based on what you know. Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to see the writer dead?”

  It was a loaded question, and Hank knew it. “Actually, I have no desire to write mysteries at all. I wouldn’t even know where to start in answering your question.”

  “I do,” Amanda said as she leaned into the microphone she shared with Hank. “I’d look at who had the most to gain, to avenge, or to hide from the death. In all my reading, I’ve found that murder usually boils down to money or love, or a combination of both of them.” She looked steadily at Hank and then out into the audience where Cindy and Gregory were standing and then added, “I’m sure that’s what this case comes down to as well. As a matter of fact, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if the police are able to crack this case, and soon, in no small part based on some information I happen to have myself.”

  It was a startling statement to make, especially onstage, and I looked at Hank’s face to see what his reaction might be. He mostly looked irritated by her claim, so I glanced out into the audience at Cindy and Gregory. Gregory didn’t react to the news at all, but I saw Cindy suddenly turn and disappear into the crowd. Amanda’s claim clearly meant something to her, but the real question was what?

  I was about to say something when Hank pushed her. “Don’t keep us all hanging, Amanda. If you’ve got something to say, tell us all right now. I’m sure everyone would love to hear what it is.”

  “All things in their own time,” Amanda said over the audience’s protests. “I know you’d all love to hear what I’ve got to say, but I’m afraid it will have to wait until I’ve shared what I saw last night with the police.”

  “That leads me to my next question,” I said, trying yet again to get control of the panel back. “I understand that you all signed books for each other in the green room at the bookstore yesterday.”

  They all nodded, and Hannah for one looked grateful for the change of subject. That wasn’t going to last long, though. I went on, “Quite by accident, we found one of Tom’s books with the following inscription. “No More Warnings. Don’t Be Stupid. Actions Have Consequences.” Does that ring any bells for any of you?”

  Whoever must have received that book wasn’t about to come forward and admit it, and I hated to say that as I watched Hank and Amanda’s expressions, I couldn’t tell if it had been meant for either one of them.

  Hannah surprised me, though. “I thought we were here to talk about our books.”

  “We are,” I said. “I’m just trying to dig into your processes so the audience can learn how you mana
ge to do what you all do so successfully.”

  It was simply not true, and what was more, she knew it, but what could she do, walk off the stage in the middle of the panel? I doubted it. As much as Hannah played the shy introvert, I knew that she enjoyed her share of the spotlight as much as any of the rest of them. “I’d be more than happy to speak to my process. There’s long been a debate between outlining and flying by the seat of your pants for fiction writers, and I want to say that I come down hard on the side of those of us who make it up as we go along. How does one go about writing a cookbook?” she asked the other two panelists. It was obvious that Hannah wasn’t all that happy with the way I’d been asking questions, so she was determined yet again to wrestle the duties from me. I scanned the crowd and saw that most of them approved of her actions, so I decided that my plan to question them all about the murder while they were on stage in front of an audience had backfired, and badly. Mostly, besides Amanda’s unsubstantiated promise of a revelation, it had blown up in my face, so I decided to actually do what Paige and I had agreed I would do. I allowed things to get back to writing and not murder.

  “You have to plan it as intricately as a bank robbery,” Hank surprised me by saying. “Nobody just blunders into a bank and asks for money, not if they don’t want to get caught. It takes careful planning, consideration, observation, and finally, composure to do it right.”

  Was he referring to the sloppy way my safe had been burgled? From all appearances, very little had gone into the planning of the robbery. Was he telling us all that on purpose, or was it just a fluke? I hated coincidences, but I knew that sometimes they really happened in life. He finished up, turning to the woman beside him. “At least that’s what I think. What about you, Amanda?”

  She seemed to shy a bit away from him as though she was afraid of the man before she spoke. “I decide what the theme is, then I try to come up with new twists on old favorites as well as spinning out new recipes to test. When I’ve got my required number of entries, I try to group them in as coherent a way as possible. After that, it’s just a matter of writing the descriptions and directions in a way that is both clear and makes sense to the reader.”

  “What about the photographs in your books? Do you take those as well?” I asked.

  “No, of course not,” Amanda said disapprovingly. “My publishing house sends a professional photographer.”

  “I take mine myself,” Hank said with a wry smile. “Maybe I’m not big enough yet to have someone else do it.”

  That got a chuckle from the audience, and I could see that they were fully engaged with the presentation again. I glanced at my watch and saw that with my tangents, we weren’t going to have time for questions from the audience. I’d lost my last chance to interview two of my last four suspects, maybe for good.

  Then I had a flash of genius. “Our time is nearing an end, but before we go, I’d like to offer the panelists an opportunity to rejoin me onstage in an hour to help me create both cake and yeast donuts. What do you say, folks? Would you like to see our writers dig in and get their hands dirty?”

  I didn’t even look at the panelists until the audience started cheering. Clearly they loved the idea, so I turned to look at the group one by one. Hannah looked okay with the idea, Hank seemed indifferent, and only Amanda looked trapped by my actions. “Then we can count on you all to come back after your signings?” I asked them. “You’ve heard what your audience thinks. They clearly love the idea.” There was an even louder round of applause this time, and they each in turn nodded their agreement.

  Maybe I’d managed to buy myself a little more time after all.

  Chapter 21

  Amanda was the first one to reach me after I dismissed the panelists in order for them to get ready for their book signings. People were already lined up in front of the tables, and I saw that Paige had even put a proxy at Tom’s table, though how Rita was going to handle the folks who wanted an autographed book, I did not know. “You’ve got a lot of nerve forcing us into that,” she said as she pushed my microphone away.

  “I thought it might be fun for you,” I said with my best fake smile. “What’s this bombshell you’re going to drop on the police?”

  “Did you honestly think I was serious?” she asked with a look of pity. “Poor thing. I’ll bet you believe in the Tooth Fairy, too.”

  “You were lying?” I asked her, not able to believe that she’d do something so brassy and so reckless.

  “Yes, but did you see the way the crowd reacted? That darling fangirl Cindy tore out of the park like she was on fire, though Gregory Smith didn’t react at all. I did you a favor, Suzanne. I’m trying to help you flush out the killer.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Come on, I’m not stupid, and neither are the other two writers over there, no matter how we might seem to you. You and your little friend are playing detective again, and we’re your main suspects.”

  “What makes you say that?” I asked her.

  Amanda looked at me scornfully for a few moments before she answered. “I live for research. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t dig into your life the moment I found out you were moderating both of our panels? I’ve read all about your adventures in the past, so the moment I heard that Tom Johnson had been murdered, I figured you’d try to solve it yourself. I just gave you a chance to see who was spooked by my claim.”

  It had never even occurred to me that someone would research me. Was it true? Were there reports on the internet about what I’d done in the past with Grace, Jake, Momma, Phillip, and George? I hadn’t counted on anyone looking into my background. “You realize that you’re putting your life in danger by claiming to have knowledge about a murder that you clearly don’t have,” I told her. “Is that really the wisest course of action, to bait a killer like that?”

  Clearly Amanda hadn’t thought about the possible ramifications of her actions. “Whoever did it wouldn’t dare come after me, not after I made such a public statement about them.”

  I wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince, me or herself. “Are you willing to bet your life on that?”

  She was about to reply when Paige came over. “Amanda, we’re getting ready to start. Are you ready?”

  “I’m raring to go,” she said gruffly.

  As she left the stage, I said, “Be careful.”

  “I always am,” she answered, but I got the last word in, at least this time.

  “Not always, and sometimes all it takes is one error in judgment to ruin your life forever.”

  Amanda faltered for a moment as she climbed offstage, and Paige had to steady her to keep her from falling. I had no real proof, but I was beginning to believe that Amanda Harrison was innocent of the crime. I didn’t think there was any chance she was that good an actress. When I’d pointed out to her that she’d painted a target on her own back, she’d been sincerely frightened by the prospect. It wasn’t solid evidence, certainly nothing I could take to Chief Grant, but for the moment, it was enough for me. Unless I came up with something new against her, I was going to put her status on hold until I could find more out about the possibilities of Hank, Gregory, or Cindy being the thief and murderer.

  “That was one of the oddest panels I’ve ever seen in my life, not that I’ve witnessed a ton of them,” Grace said as she joined me after I’d walked off the stage. Emma and Sharon were already prepping for our demonstration, and they’d once again refused my help. I was glad, since I had enough on my plate as it was.

  “I tried to push them about the murder, but it didn’t work,” I said, a little disheartened.

  “At least you tried something,” Grace said as she touched my shoulder lightly. “Did Amanda tell you what she saw last night?”

  “Can you believe it? She was bluffing,” I said. “When I pointed out the possible consequences to her, she freaked out. Grace, I don’t think she’s our killer.”

  “What would cause her to say something so rash?” Grace asked me
.

  “Maybe she wanted all of the attention from the crowd when she saw that she was losing it,” I said. “Who knows what her motivation was? Did you see Hank’s face when she made her wild claim?”

  “He seemed more than a little irritated by her statement, didn’t he?”

  “He wasn’t the only one who reacted to it, either,” I said. “You couldn’t see her from your vantage point, but from where I was standing on the stage, I saw Cindy Faber turn around and run into the crowd the moment that announcement was made. The poor woman couldn’t get away from that stage, and Amanda, quickly enough.”

  “That’s food for thought. I couldn’t believe it when Hank challenged Amanda to spill the beans right then and there onstage,” Grace said.

  “He must have had a hunch that she was bluffing, so he decided to call her on it. When she wouldn’t do it, he almost looked triumphant.”

  “If Hank was the one who killed Tom and stole your money, it was a gutsy move to make in front of everyone like that.”

  “The man may be many things, but timid is certainly not one of them,” I said.

  “What about his analogy about writing a cookbook and robbing a bank?” Grace asked me.

  “It could just be a coincidence,” I said.

  “Probably, but it seemed awfully deliberate to me when I heard him say it,” she replied.

  “So, he’s our favorite now? What if he said it just to hog a little bit of the spotlight himself? Is that conceivable?”

  “At this point anything is possible, but I’m glad we’ve at least narrowed our list down to three suspects.”

  “Only if we give Amanda a pass,” I said.