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  “It’s not that scary,” I scolded.

  “Oh yeah? Take a look.”

  I leaned into the book signing room and beheld the plethora of pink balloons, flowers, streamers, ribbons, bows, and bags. “Okay, so I lied,” I said.

  Wilson grimaced at a pink something or other. “It’s not normal.”

  “Nevertheless, we must be brave.” I tugged on his hand, but he didn’t budge. “Come on!” I said. “I’m already late. Hatsy’s going to kill me.”

  “It’s like the preinduction shindig.” He tilted his head toward the pink room. “All those fans and authors rubbing shoulders.”

  “But we’ll be careful,” I promised.

  “It’d be nice to have Densmore for backup.”

  I reminded Wilson he had our entire team for support.

  “Your mother isn’t exactly a ninja, Jessie.”

  “No, but Mykal has a black belt in tae kwon do.”

  “Brown belt.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, for Lord’s sake! It’s a room full of romance fans, not mafia dons.”

  ***

  Wilson mumbled something about the mafia versus the pink people and gamely took a step into the room, where Batsy Glee immediately accosted him with her roll of raffle tickets. Call me a coward, but I wished him the best of luck and deserted the poor guy before Patsy arrived with her pink pedestal.

  I fluttered a few fingertips at some other 3P Hall of Famers who stood at attention at their book tables and managed to get myself positioned between Maxine Carlisle and Gavin McClure before Hatsy Glee came bearing down on me.

  “Sorry, I’m a bit late,” I said all breezy-like.

  She tapped her watch. “It’s 8:13, Adelé.”

  Bless her heart, Maxine Carlisle came to my defense. She stepped out from behind a pyramid of Sensual and Scintillating: The Sex Scene Sourcebook for Today’s Romance Writer and told Hatsy to relax.

  “The fans are ignoring us, anyway,” she said. “Between Zelda’s witch’s hat and Faith’s crumbling marriage, no one cares about us.” Maxine indicated the Double D tables opposite, and I was suddenly cognizant of the dearth of fans on our side of the room.

  “The Paramour for a Day shenanigans aren’t helping, either.” Gavin tilted his head toward my long-suffering husband, who was surrounded by a gaggle of last-minute raffle ticket buyers.

  “Why did we even bother showing up for this shindig?” Maxine asked.

  “Because you are Hall of Famers!” Hatsy snapped. “This cavalier attitude is most unbecoming.”

  Hatsy was right, of course. And duly chagrined, I spent several moments enthusing over the decorations.

  “They’re spectacular!” I waved at the elaborate flower arrangement sitting next to an equally elaborate, and perhaps slightly precarious, arrangement of Adelé Nightingale’s romances. A Deluge of Desire, Windswept Whispers, Temptation at Twilight, and An Everlasting Encounter made quite an impressive pyramid, if I do say so myself. And over to the side, in neat utilitarian stacks, rested my most recent masterpieces—My South Pacific Paramour and Seduction in the Shadows.

  “And just look at all those lovely pink seals.” I smiled at Gavin, and together we admired our books, now bearing the Romance Writers Hall of Fame pink seal of approval. I turned back to Hatsy. “It must have taken you hours to label them all.”

  “I wanted everything just so,” she said, and Gavin assured her it was a sight to behold.

  “Especially that,” Mykal said as he joined us. He pointed over my shoulder, and I twirled around to notice that a larger version of the pink seal had been affixed to my An Everlasting Encounter poster.

  I thanked Hatsy for her efforts and again apologized for being late.

  “It is I who should apologize.” Roberto Santiago stepped forward and bowed to me. “I must speak to my marketing staff about this.” He pointed to the poster. “Grossly outdated!”

  “But it’s a lot of people’s favorite,” I said. “It doesn’t really matter.”

  Maybe not, but Roberto grumbled enough to scare off Hatsy, and he was still insisting that someone at 3P would pay for such a “grave error,” when Louise and my mother came by.

  I leaned over and peeked into Mother’s pink satchel. “Is that Zelda’s entire series?”

  “Mm-hmm. I’m curious about those Wayward witches.” But about then Mother noticed Roberto. She promised him she would purchase many more books from the Perpetual Pleasures Press side of the room.

  “Speaking of book purchases.” Geez Louise put her hands on her hips and made a show of looking up and down the row of 3P titles. “Where are all the fans? The book buyers? The credit cards? The cold hard cash?” She waved her arms. “Where are they? Where, where, where?”

  “There,” Maxine, Gavin, and I spoke in unison and pointed to the Double D tables, where the crowd continued to congregate.

  Indeed, only Charm Willowby’s table seemed at all lonely, and testimony to my exhausting day, I felt sorry for the woman. Perhaps she had been nasty to me over the weekend, but she also was having a rough time. Losing one’s book contract is serious stuff. And not only was Mia dumping her, but Charm had also lost her agent to a jail cell. Talk about a fizzling career.

  “Completely and totally un-fantastical!”

  I looked up and realized Geez Louise was still lamenting the dearth of fans at our 3P tables.

  She gasped. “I’ve got it! Never fear!” she said and rushed off with what could only be some totally terrifying task in mind.

  ***

  Poor Roslynn Mayweather. Louise descended upon her, yanked her out of the crowd surrounding Faith Hollingsworth, and pointed her to the 3P side of the room. More specifically, she pointed my young colleague to the table on the other side of Maxine.

  “Oh, no.” I groaned.

  “Oh, yes,” my mother said. “Brace yourself, Honeybunch.”

  “Brace yourselves,” Roslynn sang as she swept past us. She took up position at Penelope Shay’s table, and Louise Urko took the floor.

  “You’ll all be thrilled to know!” Louise spoke in her loudest Geez-Louise voice. “That Perpetual Pleasures Press is running a Labor Day Sale in memory of Penelope Shay!”

  A sale?

  That got the attention of even the most assertive oglers stationed around Wilson. They spun around to listen as my shameless agent pointed out Penelope Shay’s book pyramid, “Our own Roslynn Mayweather, author of the critically acclaimed The Sultan’s Secret, has graciously agreed to help you make your choices. But hurry!” Louise said. “Supplies of what are bound to become collectors’ editions will run out soon!”

  Louise nodded, and like a well-trained seal, Roslynn lifted a copy of Penelope’s Fiasco in the Fast Lane in each hand and pivoted for the crowd to see. “Ten percent off, while supplies last!” my protégé exclaimed.

  A communal “Ugh” echoed down the line of us other 3P authors. But dare I say, the Happily Ever After hoards abandoned Zelda and Faith in favor of what Roslynn had to offer? Meanwhile, Louise continued on her merry, insane way. She turned on her heel and set her sights on Wilson. Mother again advised me to brace myself.

  Without taking her eyes off the prize, Louise grabbed a string of raffle tickets from a thoroughly startled Batsy Glee and dragged my thoroughly startled husband over to my table.

  “Stand here and look sexy!” she ordered. She draped the pink tickets around his neck, handed him the nearest pink balloon, stole a pink flower from the nearest vase, and stuck said flower in his breast pocket.

  She held him at arm’s length. “Fantastical!” she said and gave him a good shake. “Perfectly paramourish!” She shook him again and rushed off to assist Roslynn.

  I bit my lip and watched as Wilson turned to face the rest of us. “Anyone says one word, and I shoot.”

  ***

  Okay, so business picked up.

  Also good news—Wilson didn’t shoot anyone. He did, however, rid himself of the pink accessories. He plopped the flower bac
k into the vase from whence it came, gave Patsy the balloon, and handed the raffle tickets back to Batsy.

  “Business seems promising over there,” he said and turned the Glee sisters toward the action at Penelope Shay’s table.

  Roberto excused himself, also, and Maxine decided she needed another dozen raffle tickets while she still had the chance. “Watch my table?” she asked me and left to follow Batsy.

  But Mother, Mykal, and Wilson stuck around to help people make their selections from the books on Gavin’s, Maxine’s, and my tables.

  I lost track of time, discussing writing with fellow authors interested in Maxine’s books, and discussing favorite romance novels with my own fans. It was fun, and I especially enjoyed my conversation with an older woman in a muumuu who swore that she, like Delta Touchette, had once sailed around the world in search of adventure.

  Mother waited until I had sold the last copy of My South Pacific Paramour to pull me aside. “I don’t like to be unkind,” she whispered. “But some of these Happily Ever After people seem a tad eccentric. I wonder if our culprit could be a fan?”

  “They’re all batsy,” Wilson said.

  “More than batsy,” Mykal agreed, and as if to illustrate the point, a skirmish broke out at Penelope Shay’s table. Two fairly young fans, one in leggings and sneakers, and one in a miniskirt and heels reminiscent of something Candy Poppe might wear, were wrestling over the last copy of Fiasco in the Fast Lane.

  “It’s mine!” the woman in leggings said. “This is what got her into the Hall of Fame!”

  “It’s the only first edition hardback left!” the fan in stilettos managed to keep her balance in the tug-of-war. “It’s mine!”

  I flinched as the woman in stilettos won the battle, and must confess I did not envy poor Roslynn. She tried unsuccessfully to console the loser, who was in tears.

  “The Happily Ever After regulars are quite passionate about romance,” I admitted. “But that only proves they would never kill an author.”

  Wilson looked confused, so I told him to consider his own reading habits.

  “You like thrillers, correct?” I asked. “And aren’t you always on the lookout for authors who write like Tom Clancy or John Grisham? You don’t read just one author.”

  Gavin agreed with me. “Readers want more and more authors. Not fewer and fewer.”

  “How about the volunteers?” Wilson asked, and we turned to watch the Glee Club.

  Hatsy was roaming around the room instructing fans to make their final purchases since the book signing closed at ten o’clock sharp. And Batsy and Patsy were still in the throes of selling raffle tickets. I would have been in a terrible mood being jostled about so, but the sisters were clearly enjoying themselves.

  I shook my head and admitted that the volunteers were the batsiest of all our batsy fans.

  “But if you’re following our logic,” Gavin said. “That makes them the least likely to kill an author.”

  “They love us too much,” I said just as Adam Sheppard rushed through the doorway.

  Wilson looked at me. “Speak of the devil.”

  ***

  Mykal must have noticed my eye roll. “Am I missing something?” he asked.

  “Only that the bellhop has a huge crush on Adelé,” Gavin managed to answer before Adam was close enough to overhear.

  At least I hoped Adam didn’t overhear. Because, of course, the only author he was interested in visiting was me. He stepped up to my table and apologized for arriving so late. “It was my day off.”

  “So I heard.” I pulled a Seduction in the Shadows off the depleted stack and assured him I’d been saving a copy just for him. “The usual?” I asked as I clicked my pen.

  Adam’s eyes darted toward Wilson. “He won’t mind?”

  “He won’t,” Wilson said and told anyone who was bothering to listen that he never dictates what I write. “I value my life.”

  Thus I autographed Adam’s copy of Seduction in the Shadows as tradition dictated. “For Adam,” my inscription read. “Someday I’d like to see what’s hiding beneath that bellhop uniform.”

  “It’s on the house,” I said as I handed it over.

  “But in exchange.” Wilson stepped in closer, and Adam tensed visibly. “Meet us at the bellhop station in ten minutes. We need to talk.”

  “It’s about Roaring Tori,” I whispered. “Have you heard?”

  “Oh that.” Adam breathed a sigh of relief. “Roaring Tori, the killer. Could anything be more perfect?”

  Chapter 34

  “Shoo!” Hatsy came up from behind, and poor Adam jumped ten feet in the air. She tapped her watch, and the bellhop skedaddled away.

  Luckily, not everyone scared so easily. In fact, I sold five more books during the last-minute rush. And believe it or not, Wilson spent those final moments helping the Glee sisters. Working together, they were able to sell the few remaining raffle tickets to three women who’d been procrastinating all weekend.

  But eventually we were set free. Wilson told the team to meet us in our room at eight o’clock the next morning for a debriefing, and before any of us civilians figured out what the word debriefing even meant, he was hustling me along to our rendezvous with Adam.

  Once we were safely ensconced in the bellhop station, Wilson got right to the point. “You think it was Tori?” he asked.

  Adam shrugged. “She’s the staff’s first choice.”

  “Because they know she’s guilty, or because they hope she’s guilty?” I asked, and he admitted it was probably the latter.

  “Tori’s everyone’s least favorite pink person,” he said.

  “Tell me more about the staff,” Wilson said. “What do you know?”

  “I don’t know what I know.” Adam shrugged again. “What is it you want me to know?”

  A very good question that left Wilson momentarily stumped.

  “I know!” I said. “You helped Tori to her room on Friday, correct? Did any of her luggage seem suspicious?”

  “Like, did she have a carry-on with a skull and crossbones on it?” Adam asked. Unfortunately, his answer to that was a resounding no. “I’ve been racking my brains to think of anything unusual.” He appealed to Wilson. “That’s kind of hard, you know. The Happily Ever After’s always weird.”

  “I hear you,” Wilson said. “How about Penelope Shay? Did you help her to her room?”

  “Oh, yeah. She complained about getting the short end of the stick.”

  I shook my head. “Penelope thought I was getting a better room.”

  “And for once, she was right. I made sure you got the nicest suite of all, Adelé.”

  Wilson cleared his throat and asked if Adam had noticed anything unusual in Penelope’s room.

  “Nothing. She got the exact same treatment as you guys—champagne, candy, flowers.”

  “Let’s move on to yesterday morning.” Wilson twirled a finger to indicate the small bellhop room. “Did you get in trouble for ducking out on the job for the preinduction shindig?”

  “To congratulate your wife? You’re kidding me, right?” Adam reminded us he’d worked at the Goodnight Inn for a good twenty years and could take a short break on occasion. But he also mentioned he’d been back on duty when Penelope died. “I heard about it from Hatsy.”

  I glanced at Wilson. “You sent her to the lobby to wait for Jo.”

  “She was pretty upset,” Adam continued. “I tried to calm her down, but at least Chief Keegan got here pretty quick.”

  He reminded us he and Hatsy had escorted Jo Keegan to the conference room, and I mentioned that even then, Adam hadn’t stuck around very long.

  I frowned. “Since the infinitely wise chief of police dismissed ninety-nine percent of the crowd.”

  “That’s when I brought your mother up to her room.” Adam nodded. “Then I came back here until Batsy stormed in. She was even crazier than Hatsy. She said something about candy and sent me up to the third flood to guard Penelope’s room.”

>   Wilson sat forward. “Did you notice anything—anything fishy—when you got up there?”

  Adam grimaced. “You’re gonna be mad.”

  “You went into the room, didn’t you?”

  “No! I promise I didn’t do that. First of all, I don’t have keys to the rooms, and second of all, I’d lose my job, and third of all—”

  “Okay, okay.” Wilson held up both hands, but Adam still felt compelled to tell us his third reason.

  “Batsy said not to let anyone in,” he said. “Would you dare disobey Batsy?”

  Wilson rolled his eyes. “Getting back to your point. What’s going to make me mad?”

  “Penelope got room service breakfast yesterday morning.”

  “What!?” Wilson jumped. “How do you know this? Who’ve you been talking to?”

  “No one. I figured it out when I got up there.” Adam looked back and forth between us. “I noticed a bunch of room service trays on Mary Alice’s cleaning cart. She’s one of the maids, and her cart was only four doors down from Penelope’s room.”

  Wilson groaned. “She’d just cleaned the room.”

  “That’s right. I don’t know why I even asked which trays came from which room. Probably because Hatsy was so bent out of shape about the poisoning. And then Batsy was all upset about that candy.” He cringed at me. “I guess I had poison on the mind.”

  “It was clever of you to ask about those room service trays,” I said.

  “It would have been even more clever if I saved those trays. But when I asked which one came from Penelope’s room, Mary Alice looked at me like I was nuts.” He turned back to Wilson. “So I let it go. I’m really sorry.”

  Wilson told him not to apologize. “You’re not a cop,” he said. “Why should you think like one?”

  “But this idea of room service makes no sense,” I said. “Penelope told me she didn’t have a proper breakfast that morning. She bragged about cheating on her diet and eating Batsy’s candy.” I blinked at Wilson. “So what exactly did she eat? I’d like to know what the room service people remember.”