“Oh.Okay.Yeah, I meant more the conference—”
“Did someone say something?”he asked.“Is there a problem?What happened?”
“Uh, no problem, no.”But Bobby and I shared a look that said: No problem besides the murder.
“It’s so strange that she was here,” I said.“How did that even happen?”
“Vivienne always comes to Northern Noir,” Graeme said.“It was one of her favorites.And since we’re in her hometown this year, it only makes sense that she’d be here.”
“But she was in the state penitentiary,” Bobby said.
Graeme studied Bobby as though Bobby were some kind of idiot.“Yes, obviously.I meant since she was released.”
“I guess that’s what I’m curious about,” I said.“When did Vivienne contact you about attending the conference?Registration closed months ago.”
Even as I asked the question, though, I realized that it might not mean anything—I had no idea how long Vivienne had been out of prison, or how long she’d known the pardon was coming, or any of the details about her release.
But Graeme tilted his head at me as though he hadn’t thought about it before.He said slowly, “She emailed me the day before the conference started.”
“And you told her she could come?”Bobby asked.
“She’s Vivienne Carver.”When neither Bobby nor I responded to that, Graeme continued, “Of course I wanted her to come.Not only because of her books and her career, but because—well, everything else.”
“And it didn’t concern you that the person who exposed her and helped get a conviction was also going to be at the conference?”
Blotches of red rose in Graeme’s face.“That’s ridiculous.There was never any danger.”
“Meaning, you did consider it,” Bobby said, “but you chose not to tell Dash.Or the sheriff’s office.Or anyone.”
“But he’s fine,” Graeme said.And then he turned to me.“You’re fine.Vivienne assured me—”
“She assured you?”Bobby asked, his volume going fromcasual conversation with law enforcementtocease and desist.
“Bobby,” I said, “do you mind getting us some coffee?”
Bobby’s gaze swung toward me, and for a moment, the flat-eyed cop look there stopped me.But then he gave me a tight nod, directed another hard stare at Graeme, and made his way toward the Chipper stall, where Tessa was talking to Dr.Xu (also petting Cotton, Dr.Xu’s adorable yellow Lab pup).
“If you’re thinking of some sort of lawsuit—” Graeme said.
“No, nothing like that.I’m trying to figure out why Vivienne was here.And who else knew she’d be here.That kind of thing.”
Graeme adjusted his pen and clipboard.With what sounded like reluctant interest, he said, “You’re trying to solve her murder.”
“I’m curious.”
“Because you’re the chief suspect.”
“Okay, why does everyone think I’m the chief suspect?”
“Because I edited and published mystery novels for eleven years,” Graeme said, and for the first time, a hint of humor filtered into the words.“And because of your history with her.And because you found her.And—”
“Yes, got it, thank you.”I took a breath.“Is there anyone here who might have wanted Vivienne dead?”Before he could point out the obvious, I said, “Anyone else, I mean?”
“Well.”He tapped the pen against the clipboard.“A lot of people didn’t like Vivienne.Jealousy.And then, when the truth came out, everyone took it as retroactive proof—they’d all secretly hated her, and now they had a way to justify it.But that’s not what you meant.”The pen stilled against the clipboard.“Her agent is here.Her former agent, I mean.”
“Who’s that?”
“Margaux Mendez.”Graeme hesitated.“I don’t want to betray any confidences, but Margaux has been public about how she feels about Vivienne.She blames her for, well, everything that has gone wrong.”
