It had to be a joke.
Right?
“—comes around to check things one more time, I’m going to quit,” Sam was saying.“He’s driving me crazy!”
“He’s stressed,” Frodo says.“I mean, two people are dead.He’s under a lot of pressure.”
“He was like this before the conference even started!He double-checked every single author packet I did.And then he told me I needed a haircut!”
Sam started to reply, noticed me, and said, “Can we help you?”
I eased into the conversation by asking for painkillers, and then I stood there, trying to figure out how to get around to what I really wanted to ask.Sam was still rummaging through the first aid kit, looking for Tylenol, ibuprofen, or anything in that vein, when Graeme appeared.He was pink-cheeked, his thinning hair mussed, and as I watched him approach, he kept trying to clean his glasses on his shirt, checking them, and then cleaning them again.He walked right past me and said to Frodo, “What did the caterers say about the dessert?”
Frodo was about to launch into an explanation—and trust me, I was all ears (someone said the magic word)—but decided I’d better cut in before Graeme got too busy.
“Graeme, sorry,” I said.“Quick question: do you know where Margaux is?”
He frowned at me.He took a moment, as though trying to place me, before he said, “No.I can see if she’s on the program.”
“Do you mind?”
He flipped through the program, frowning, and shook his head.“Sorry, she doesn’t have any events scheduled right now.Do you want me to text her?”
I considered it, then shook my head.“But by any chance, do you know if she had any events Thursday night?”
Graeme didn’t say,The night Vivienne was murdered, but you could practically hear it ringing in the air.
“Just wondering,” I said in my most carefree tone.“Checking all my boxes.You know.”
Another long moment passed.Then he flipped back several pages, scanned it, and said, “She didn’t have any events.Not when…not for the time I think you’re asking about.”
“No one-on-ones.”
Something flickered in Graeme’s expression, but I couldn’t tell what it was.“No.Nothing official, anyway.”
“Okay.Great.Thank you.”
“Is this something I need to know about?”
“Uh, no.No, I don’t think so.Like I said, checking boxes.”
Graeme nodded and, tucking the clipboard under his arm, turned back to his conversation with Frodo.
Sam handed me a packet of Tylenol, and I took the pills with a swig of water while my mind raced.
Margaux had lied.She had told me she’d had one-on-ones at the time Vivienne was being killed.At the time, it had seemed believable—after all, there had been alotof one-on-one meetings happening around then.But now that I thought back, it didn’t make any sense; Margaux had been holding her pitch sessions or whatever they were thenextday.When Bobby and I had talked to her.And that meant Margaux didn’t have an alibi for Vivienne’s murder.
I checked my phone.I had enough time for a quick confrontation (yikes, since when had that become part of my vocabulary?), and I could still make it to dinner with Bobby.
I was still trying to decide if Ishouldask Graeme to text Margaux—although, a part of me wondered, would that tip her off?—when a familiar voice shouted, “Mr.Dane!”
I spent my whole teenage life wishing I were popular, and now I was having serious regrets.I was going to have to start making sacrificial offerings to Obnoxia, the Roman goddess ofeveryone leave me alone.
But I managed to put a smile on my face when Charlie, AJ, and Thatcher emerged from the crowd.Charlie was wearing a much smaller bandage now, and although their color still wasn’t great, they were beaming at me.AJ wore a full glower, and Thatcher had popped those buttons on his shirt again and was letting the chest hair breathe.
“Mr.Dane—I mean, Mr.Dash!I got Maggie McLaughlin to sign my copy ofDetectives and Dragons,and she asked me about my writing, and Itoldher.”The last bit was delivered in a whisper of excited disbelief.
“Charlie’s supposed to be resting,” AJ said.“But they said if you could investigate a murder, they were going to come to the conference too.”
