“Oh no. Maxine’s going to have a fit,” Orbra muttered to Iva and Cherry. “We’ll never hear the end ofit.”
“Why? What’s— oh, is that the writer?” Leslie was only able to get a glance at the newcomers without rudely craning her head tolook.
“Hell, for all we know he made his escape from her at Sunflower House and that’s why he’s here,” Cherry said with a huskylaugh.
“Is that the mayor with him?” asked Iva, peering through her reading glasses, which she seemed to have forgotten she was wearing. She had turned in her chair, but this left her facing her date, so it wasn’t as obvious she wasgawking.
But no one needed to reply, for the two men had been seen by Trib and he beckoned them over. “There’s no room at the inn but here at this table.” He looked around the crowded restaurant with satisfaction. “And it’s not even high season. Mayor Underwhite, you don’t mind sitting here with these lovely ladies—and a very special gentleman, I might add,” he said with a warm look that was (probably for the best) lost on HollisNath.
“I’d never say no to sitting at a table with such lovely companions,” said Aaron Underwhite. “I hope you don’t mind, Jer—er, John. There doesn’t seem to be anywhere else tosit.”
“Not at all.” The alleged famous writer directed a smile at the table in general as they chose two of the three open seats. “John Fischer,” he said, shaking everyone’s hand in turn just before taking hisseat.
Until now, Leslie had no idea what the author Jeremy Fischer looked like—his photo didn’t appear on any of his book covers, or even on his website. She guessed it was because of privacy, rather than because of his appearance—for the good-looking man who sat down across from her had no reason to be shy in thatarea.
He had soft gray eyes, a broad, square jaw, and a slender nose. His thick coffee-colored hair was worn short and brushed forward on top, as if to hide a receding hairline. It was threaded with gray, especially at the sideburns, and sported a bit of curl at the ends. His beard and mustache were neatly trimmed, and rather than looking like an unkempt vagabond, he simply looked collegiate. The round glasses perched on his nose gave him an air of absentmindedness and studiousness—as if he were mentally focused on whatever book he might be writing, despite sitting in a crowdedrestaurant.
“John’s in town working on a project,” said Underwhite with a barely concealed sense of pride. “He needed a quiet place to hole himselfup.”
Jeremy—or John, as he was calling himself—made no comment. Instead, he gave a brief smile then turned to pore over the menu, leaving his companions to wonder about his “project” and whether the rumors weretrue.
“Where’s Regina?” asked Orbra. “Should we pull up a chair for hertoo?”
“She’ll be here in a few,” replied the mayor. He was about the same age as Fischer and Trib, and he had very short hair that was thinning on top. Underwhite wore a smartly cut, very expensive suit that seemed like overkill in a small town like Wicks Hollow, especially after business hours. He was short and stocky, with ruddy cheeks and soft hands, and exuded an underlying air of importance laced withgregariousness.
As soon as he ordered a beer, Underwhite turned his attention to Leslie. He flashed perfect white teeth and said, “Pleasure to finally meet you, young lady. Sorry I haven’t been by to give you an official welcome—been very busy with all the big Fall Colors tours. Want to keep those seniors and lovebirds coming back every fall, so I have to be visible as possible. Very pleased to hear things are coming along so well at Shenstone House. Nice article in theGazetteyesterday—Baxter James always does a goodjob.”
Young lady? Leslie hadn’t been called “young lady” since she was just out of college. She was barely twenty years younger than the mayor, if that, and she’d dealt with men his age and older for years in the corporate world. She was just about to make a cool retort that might have included the words “older man” when Cherry moved next to her, and there was an instant, sharp pain in herankle.
“Oh, did I kick you?” her aunt asked innocently—but there was a flash of warning in her eyes.Benice.
Whatever. “Baxter spent a lot of time at the house, looking at all the things I’ve been having done,” Leslie replied briskly. “He took a lot of photos too; said he was going to write an article and submit it toMidwest Living,as well as the Grand Rapids and Chicago papers. Some sort of pre-publicitypress.”
“That’s excellent news,” Underwhite said with a smile. “Baxter knows what he’s doing when it comes to publicity—look at what he’s done with B-Cubed.”
“B-Cubed?”
“Baxter’s Beatnik Brews—B-Cubed Beer. His IPA is our most popular local beer, and it’s made right here in Wicks Hollow. Anything that helps a local business, like yours or his, helps Wicks Hollow—and vice versa. I sure hope we’ll see you at the Chamber of Commerce and Business District meetings in the near future.” The mild rebuke—she hadn’t yet been to either one—was such that Leslie couldn’t take offense. Underwhite was right: as a business owner, she would want to be involved in thosemeetings.
“As soon as things settle down with the main contract work, you can bet I’ll be there,” shereplied.
“We’ll look forward toit.”
It was on the tip of Leslie’s tongue to tell Cherry and Orbra that she and Declan had discovered a hidden speakeasy when a waiter arrived with their beer—including one by B-Cubed.
Conversation turned, not so accidentally, to books—with Cherry and Orbra doing their best to draw John Fischer into conversation about his suspectedcontemporaries.
Cherry started it by casually mentioning that she’d just picked up the latest J. D. Robb from the library. Orbra latched on, and was off andrunning.
“T. J. Mack is one of my favorites, of course, being as the author’s pretty close to being a Wicks Hollow native,” she said, looking around the table—but pitching her words to make certain Fischer could hear. “I have all the Sargent Blue books on my shelf. They’re just so funny, but they’re suspenseful, too—grab you by the throat and don’t let go the minute you start reading. I also love the Jack Reachers, and those other ones by Harlan Coben—but the Bruno Tablenture books—those are definite auto-buys for me. Inhardcover.”
Wow. Orbra was really buttering up Fischer if she was buying his books in print. Or at least claiming to. Leslie hid a smile as she glanced at the writer. To her surprise, he caught her gaze with his. Humor flashed therein as he winked, then tilted his head to sip from a B-Cubedlongneck.
“So guess what I found,” Leslie said in a low voice to Cherry as the books conversation trundled to a halt. “Or, I should say,wefound,today.”
“What?” Her aunt, more slender and toned at sixty-five than most women were at thirty, had settled in her seat and was eyeing John Fischer speculatively from across the table. “He might be able to keep up with me,” she muttered. “And I’ve never minded a guy with a beard. Not at all. William Reckless had a very sexy one.” She sighed with what sounded like regret. “Too bad he ran off to the monks inTibet.”
Leslie shook her head. Cherry had never been married, but she’d had her share of boyfriends over the years—and a wide variety of them. And since she’d grown up during the days of Woodstock, free love, and communes, it was to be expected she’d known many men with beards and longhair.
