AJ clutched her tablet.“Whitney Smith.”
I didn’t recognize the name, so I scanned the article until I found the longer summary, which listed key people in the investigation.Vivienne was there, of course, and a longer description of Kessler that didn’t add much, and a section on Simona Wolf, who was—according to the article—a rising star in the world of literary crime fiction.Margaux didn’t receive any further treatment aside from that mention.Whitney Smith was there too, listed as one of Simona’s friends, but as I started to read the paragraph about her, Thatcher spoke again.
“Itriedto read one of her books,” he said in the tone of a twentysomething who has figured it all out.“But I didn’t care for the prose.”
“She’s got to be the killer,” AJ said.“She’shere.”
“But why would she kill Vivienne?”I said.
“Because she wants revenge!”Thatcher shouted.And then, lamely, “Or something.”
That seemed like a fantastic example of jumping to conclusions, but, on the other hand, what did I know?
“And someone didn’t want anyone else to know about this,” AJ said.“That’s why they had to stop Charlie.”
I almost pointed out that theyhadn’tstopped Charlie—they hadn’t even managed to get rid of the Wikipedia article.But now didn’t seem like the time.
“Where did you find Charlie?”I said.“You’d better tell me the rest of it.”
Thatcher and AJ exchanged a look.
“We were going to meet up at AJ’s car,” Thatcher said.“When we got there—” He stopped, and for a moment, the Hemingwayesque bravado drained out of him until he was so pale I thought he was going to pass out.
“Charlie had been hurt,” AJ said softly.And then she squeezed Charlie’s hand.“So, we called nine-one-one.”
Before I could ask another question, Bobby poked his head into the room.“Can I talk to you?”
In the hall, Bobby’s expression was grim as he shut the door—and, I noticed, he didn’t say anything until he was sureit was shut.
“I’ve got to go; the sheriff called me in.But I don’t want to—”
“No, Bobby, go.I’ll be fine.Is everything okay?”
He shook his head.“I know you’re not going to go home, but please, Dash—please be careful.This is getting dangerous.”It must have cost him a lot to add, “I could tell the sheriff I’m not available—”
“Don’t do that.I’ll be safe.I’ll be smart.”
Bobby nodded unhappily.
“What happened?”I asked.
He drew a deep breath and said, “That’s the thing: Steven Block is dead.”
Chapter 12
Unfortunately, Bobby didn’t have any, you know,usefulinformation to add after that little revelation.All he knew—and what he told me—was that some Arcadia students had spotted Steven in the creek and called for campus security.
After Bobby left, I said goodbye to the ducklings and made my way to the Jeep.I got in.And then I sat there for a while.
I’d hardly known Steven.I wasn’t his friend.But he’d seemed like a decent person, a person who loved books and stories, and one who had taken a real tumble in life.And while he hadn’t been exactly forthcoming with the incriminating details, he’d been a human being, with his own hopes and fears, and now he was dead.I didn’t want to pretend I was devastated.I wasn’t trying to manufacture grief.But there was a certain…heaviness.
He'd fallen in the creek and drowned.
Maybe.
It was awful, yes.It was also convenient.
I mean, an hour before, I’d been talking to Steven in the conference center bar.He’d been drinking steadily, that much was obvious.But he hadn’t beendrunk.Not fall-down, blackout drunk.And I got the feeling that heavy drinking wasn’t anything new for Steven.I suppose it was possible that he’d taken a spill, rolled down into the creek, and been unable to get out—because he was disoriented, or because he hit his head, or for some other reason.But I couldn’t buy it.
