“Oooo, I remember a couple of those.” Ophelia waved her copy ofA Legacy of Spies. “Always wondered if they were secret agents or something.”
I sputtered over a swallow of lemonade. Waving off the others’ concern, I finally found my voice and choked out, “I’m fine. Just went down the wrong way.”
“You’ve been reading too many thrillers, Ophelia.” Ellen’s tone was smooth as her bright-pink silk caftan. “Speaking of which, I hear le Carré has a new book coming out later this year. You might want to preorder it, if you like that sort of thing.”
“Don’t you like spy stories?” Pete asked. “I find them fascinating.”
Sandy glanced over at her husband. “He likes the films too. So do I, although I draw the line at the James Bond–type stuff. Too far-out for me.”
“They are a bit over-the-top,” Ellen said. “And not just because of the gadgets.” She pressed one palm over the cover of the hardback book balanced on her knees. “I find books like this more believable.”
Scott cast her a questioning glance. “You mean the grittier stuff. Not all bon mots and martinis?”
“Exactly,” she said. “I mean, think about it. Who would make a better spy? Some high-living dandy like Bond, or a nebbishy guy who looks like he works for a failing accounting firm?”
Scott grinned. “Because real spies would want to go unnoticed. Yeah, I’ve often thought the same thing. I even mentioned it to my dad in relation to some of his books, but he told me that readers expected their heroes to be dashing daredevils.”
Ellen shrugged. “Fiction versus reality. Real life can be so boring, I suppose. Not something anyone wants to read about.”
I side-eyed her as I took another sip of my drink. She’d called my great-aunt “reckless,” but she seemed to possess a bit of that quality herself. All this dancing around the truth …
“Not always,” I said. “I think our recent experiences have proven that real life can be just as exciting as books and movies. Of course, I’m not sure that’s always a good thing,” I added with a grimace.
“You have to admit it’s ironic that a celebration of a murder-mystery author would result in a murder.” Julie sat back in her chair and shared a smile with Scott. “I mean, you couldn’t have planned that any better, Charlotte.”
“Fortunately, I had nothing to do with it,” I said dryly. “Even if some of you did suspect me early on.”
Julie pointed a finger at me. “You suspected us too. Admit it.”
“Hmmm … maybe,” I said, burying my face in my glass.
Ellen laughed. “Oh, we had quite a list.” She glanced around the room. “Although we did eliminate Sandy and the Sandberg sisters.”
“So just me, Pete, and Julie? Thanks,” Scott said, with a sarcastic grin.
“No, Ms. Simpson and Damian Carr were prime suspects too,” Ellen said. “And the Delamont women, of course.”
“But not Kelly Rowley,” I said. “Not until much later, anyway. Which just goes to show that I should leave the detecting to the professionals.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Ellen shot me a conspiratorial look. “I’d say you have some skills in that area.”
“Yeah, you must’ve suspected Kelly Rowley there at the end, the way you took out after her,” Bernadette said. “Which was rather foolish, if you ask me.”
A vision of Kelly pressing a gun to Ellen’s head flashed through my mind. “Probably not my smartest move.”
“But so brave.” Ophelia widened her blue eyes. “Ellen, too. I don’t know how either of you kept from falling apart, being held hostage like that.”
“Shock, pure and simple,” Ellen said. “And you didn’t see me later, quaking on my bed so hard that I upset poor Shandy. He kept whimpering and licking my arm. Trying to make me feel better, I guess.”
“Dogs are good for that,” Pete said.
Sandy looked over at him, pouting. “So why won’t you let me get one?”
“Dogs in a café?” Pete raised his eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound like it would work.”
“The dog could stay upstairs in our apartment,” Sandy said.
“And bark all day?”
