“That look?” I echoed.
“The true-crime fans mostly look happy and excited,” she said. “Like they figure maybe they’re getting the inside track on the next big case. But people who are here in the hope that they can learn something that will help them with a case they care about, or maybe even enlist the help of someone like Festus—they all look serious. Maybe even stressed, as if this was their one chance to do something for whoever they’re trying to help.”
“Do we have a lot of true-crime fans attending?” I asked. I knew Cordelia and Festus had spent a lot of mental energy strategizing how to promote the conference so it would attract mainly people with a serious interest in getting someone exonerated.
“I expect about half of the attendees,” she said. “But Festus says that’s no problem. He says it’s a win if even one of them who came for the fun of it gets fired up to take on a worthwhile case. He says he’s seen it happen more than once at events where he’s given talks.”
Yes, if anyone could convince other people to take on the injustices of the world, it would be Festus. I’d done my part a time or two, helping him. Tilting at windmills, as he called it—though his results were usually a lot more on target than Don Quixote’s.
“I do have one question.” Ophelia frowned slightly, as if reconsidering the wisdom of asking. Then she shook her head and forged ahead. “Mr. Norton complained that the after-dinner entertainment was going to be the local police chief’s wife singing Christmas carols. Is that, um…”
Was the Gadfly that clueless or was he deliberately trying to stir up trouble?
“Well, it’s true that Minerva Burke will be on the program,” I said. “But I have no idea if she’ll be doing any singing herself. She’s the director of the New Life Baptist Choir. They’re nationally famous—and deservedly so. But if you hear any complaints about the fact that they’ll be doing Christmas carols—”
“So far no one’s complained,” Ophelia said. “I mean, Ms. Cordelia made it clear that it’s entertainment, not an official part of the program.”
“And they’re joining forces with the Temple Beth-El choir for the occasion,” I said. “So I expect there will be a few Christmas carols, a few Hanukkah songs, and a whole lot of winter seasonal songs. ‘Winter Wonderland,’ ‘Jingle Bells,’ ‘Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow’—you get the idea.”
“That sounds nice,” she said. “And I wasn’t complaining about the Christmas part of it. I’m sure someone will, but not me. And after all, Ms. Cordelia’s trying to do everything she can to make sure anyone who wants to attend any kind of religious or spiritual service can get there. And Temple Beth-El—is that the synagogue that invited anyone and everyone at the conference to join them for their Sabbath dinner?”
“It is,” I said. “And you should seriously consider going. The food will be awesome.”
Just then I saw Ginny and Janet, the two women who were hoping to exonerate their high-school buddy, come bustling in from the lobby. From their cheerful expressions, I gathered that the prospect of talking to Ezekiel Blaine had encouraged them. They waved at us before disappearing into the Hamilton Room.
“Have you met those two?” Ophelia asked. “The Keepers, as Kevin calls them.”
“Ginny and Janet? Yes,” I said. “Why does he call them the Keepers? Keepers of what?”
“You’ll have to ask him,” she said. “I haven’t had time yet to find out. I assume I will eventually. They’re going to present their friend’s case in a roundtable session—I think they’re hoping Festus will take it on.”
I nodded and made a note to look for their session—and ask Kevin the reason for the nickname.
Ezekiel followed a minute or so later, with a coffee cup in his hand and Ruth trotting obediently at his side. He waved cheerfully at us before strolling over to the door of the Hamilton Room.
“I should go in and catch the end of Festus’s talk,” I said. “And isn’t my grandfather on after that?”
“After the fifteen-minute break,” she said.
I nodded and strolled over to join Ezekiel. We listened as Festus fielded questions from the audience. The Gadfly was waving his arm frantically, but with luck the session would end before he was called on.
“Festus should wrap up in five minutes or so,” Ezekiel said in an undertone, while another audience member asked a rather long-winded question. “You going to stay around for your grandfather’s talk on DNA?”
“Or whatever else he’s talking about,” I said. “He’d never forgive me if I didn’t.”
“Of course not.” He chuckled. “I definitely want to hear it. Partly because I probably owe my freedom to that DNA lab of his. And partly because when Dr. Blake is talking, he almost convinces you that you understand all that science.”
I nodded.
“And truth be told,” Ezekiel went on, “I also wouldn’t miss it because I bet Mr. Norton is planning to cause trouble, and if he does, I surely would enjoy seeing your granddaddy take him down a peg.”
I smiled and nodded. Actually, I hoped the Gadfly wouldn’t prove too annoying—Grandfather was always more pleasant to be around when he was in a good mood. But yes, if necessary he could deal with Norton. And Cordelia would probably intervene if Norton was too obnoxious. Although in their youth she and Grandfather had once been close enough to produce Dad, they no longer got along all that well. Lately they’d been working hard on maintaining the truce that allowed them both to enjoy spending time with the family. If anything could bring them into a temporary alliance, it would be someone like the Gadfly. Neither of them suffered fools gladly.
Festus was wrapping up, reminding the audience that he’d be back after lunch for the panel on Ezekiel Blaine’s case, and around generally if people wanted to ask him questions.
“And are you actually going to answer people’s questions this afternoon,” the Gadfly shouted out. “Or are you going to keep stonewalling anyone who doesn’t agree with you?”
Festus’s smile was catlike.
“If you’ve got a question that’s even remotely relevant to anything I’ve said over the last hour and fifteen minutes, I’d be glad to hear it,” he said. “But if all you want to do is make another speech about how you disapprove of the whole idea of this get-together … well, you’re welcome to go start your own conference to promote your point of view.”
The audience greeted this with light applause and scattered laughter.
“Fifteen-minute break, folks,” Festus said. “Coffee and tea in the Gathering Area.”
“Well, maybe you don’t care if you’re turning dangerous criminals loose on a society that’s unprepared to deal with them,” Norton said, in a voice designed to carry over the conversations that were starting up and the rest of the crowd noise. “Maybe you don’t care about the trauma you’re causing to victims who thought the people who slaughtered their family and friends were getting the punishment they deserve. Maybe—hmph!”
Norton had caught sight of both Cordelia and Ekaterina, converging on him from opposite sides of the meeting room. I had to hand it to him—he did a pretty good job of managing to look as if he’d decided to leave on his own. You could almost believe the way he was barging through the crowd like a steam engine was due to his own natural rudeness. Or maybe a dire need for caffeine.
Ezekiel and I both stepped well aside until he’d stormed out of the door and headed for the coffee-and-tea service. Then we began working to buck the main tide of people leaving the room, so we could find good seats for Grandfather’s session.
“Did you hear what Mr. Norton tried to pull last night at the cocktail party?” Ezekiel asked.
“No,” I said. “Nothing horrible, I hope.”
“Milder than most of his nonsense,” he said. “Your grandmother made an announcement about tomorrow night’s concert, and he tried to make a big fuss about it being a Christmas concert, and what about people who weren’t Christians.”
“I do hope Cordelia explained that it was a Christmas, Hanukkah, and winter concert.”
“She did better than that.” He was grinning with pleasure at the memory. “She told him she’d be happy to try to connect him with any locals who shared his religious affiliation, if he cared to enlighten her on what it was. So he shouted out that he was a pagan. And she actually reached into her handbag, pulled out a list, and started reading off options. That the local Unitarian Universalist church had a pagan group, and did he want her to introduce him to them? Or would he prefer a Wiccan coven? She knew of several, including a Gardnerian one, whatever that is. And she knew some local Druids and Discordians, and while she wasn’t entirely sure they counted as pagans, she could introduce him to some Voodooists and some Rastafarians. And that was the point when he got annoyed enough to storm out of the room. Does Caerphilly really have that many … unusual religious groups?”
“I have no idea,” I said. “I know we have the Unitarian pagans and the Wiccans. The rest? No idea. But if we don’t have them, I bet my husband, Michael, could find some people to put on a good show of pretending, either to placate the Gadfly or play a prank on him. Michael’s on the faculty of the Caerphilly College drama department, so he knows a lot of aspiring actors who’d have fun doing it.”
“In any case, I’m looking forward to the concert,” Ezekiel said. “And is your grandmother serious about having fireworks afterward?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “She’s hired the same firm that does our town’s Fourth of July fireworks.”
Actually, Things That Go Boom, the firm in question, consisted of three youthful Shiffley cousins who’d turned their love of setting things on fire and blowing things up into a lucrative part-time business. But they were good at it—and very safety-conscious, as Cordelia had taken the trouble to learn.
We arrived at the front row and grabbed seats at the far-left side.
“Just so you know, these really aren’t safe seats,” I said. “Grandfather likes to pick on people in the front row—ask them questions or make them volunteer to be guinea pigs.”
“I doubt if I’ll know any of the answers, but I’m happy to volunteer if he needs me,” Ezekiel said. “I owe him more than I can ever repay. Him and all his laboratory scientists.”
And why wasn’t Grandfather already at the podium, reassuring the audience—and Cordelia—that he’d be here to start his session on time? I turned and began peering toward the entrance doors. I was going to give it five minutes before I went to hunt him down.