Luckily the announcement of lunch distracted everyone from the departing Gadfly. Some people hurried toward the lobby door—presumably to drop by their rooms before the meal started. Others, no doubt hopeful of being near the beginning of the buffet line, headed for the hallway that led to the ballroom. The boys, reassured that Ruth was being well protected, joined that crowd—although before scampering off, Adam gave his grandfather a fierce, wordless hug. Cordelia came over to where I was standing, watching as Dad, Grandfather, and Ezekiel hovered over Ruth.
“It doesn’t happen often,” she said, in her normal tone of voice. “But every once in a long while, the old coot does something that reminds me of what I once saw in him.”
“A good thing Rose Noire didn’t hear you say that,” I said. “Or she’d jump to the conclusion that you and Grandfather were an item again.”
Cordelia’s snort told me just what she thought of that idea.
“Next time she gets that idea into her head, let’s figure out a way to let her down easy,” she said. “Because that’s one Christmas miracle I don’t see happening. Getting back to Norton—Ekaterina’s giving a heads-up to all her staff. If he tries to regain entry, he will be rebuffed.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open,” I said. “And do you think maybe we should make a diplomatically worded announcement at lunch? Let everyone know that he’s persona non grata, and they shouldn’t open any of the hotel’s side doors to him.”
“An excellent idea.” She pulled out the tiny notebook that was her equivalent of my notebook-that-tells-me-when-to-breathe and jotted in a quick entry.
Then she made a familiar gesture—a glance at the pocket of her slacks, followed by pulling out her phone and looking at it.
“Blast the man,” she said. “If he actually thinks I want to talk to him on the phone—”
“The Gadfly?”
She nodded and touched her phone’s screen to decline the call. She was about to stick the phone back in her pocket when it vibrated again—visibly this time. She stabbed at the screen with obvious annoyance.
“One of the few things that’s better on a landline,” she said. “Hanging up on someone is so much more satisfactory.”
The phone vibrated again.
“Three strikes and he’s out,” I said. “Block him.”
“I am,” she said. “Wretched man. Let’s go get something to eat.”
Lunch was a soup, salad, and sandwich buffet. Of course, since it was the Inn providing it, the dozen different steaming-hot soups were the chef’s finest creations, the half-dozen salads were fresh and organic, and the spread of sandwich ingredients featured a bewildering variety of artisanal breads, meats, and cheeses. Ekaterina had even solved one of the perennial problems with hotel buffets—the difficulty of juggling multiple plates or bowls—by providing a supply of sleek, elegant bentwood trays.
Cordelia’s announcement about the Gadfly earned a spontaneous outbreak of cheers and applause.
“Well, that went over well,” she said when she rejoined me in the buffet line.
“Obviously we’re not the only ones delighted by the idea of never, ever setting eyes on him again,” I replied.
We took our trays to a table in a corner of the ballroom—a table that was both dangerously close to the buffet and conveniently located for observing everything that went on at every other table. We sat with our backs to the wall, so focused on keeping an eye on the attendees that we conversed only sporadically and paid far less attention to the food than it deserved.
Josh, Jamie, and Adam waved at us on their way to sit with Dad and Grandfather. Kevin and Casey, his podcasting partner, were ensconced a few tables away from us, with half a dozen attendees who I suspected were among the true-crime aficionados, rather than committed exoneration volunteers. I’d have made a bet, though, that before the conference was over, at least a few of them would sign up to help with one of the unjust cases Virginia Crime Time was promoting. Festus was having a serious and rather intense conversation with the two redheads, aunt and niece.
“Mind if I join you?”
I glanced up to see Minerva Burke, the chief’s wife, holding a tray.
“Of course,” Cordelia said. “I didn’t know you were coming today. Were you planning to see Henry’s presentation?”
“I wasn’t.” Minerva set down her tray and settled her well-padded frame into one of the Inn’s comfortable dining chairs with a sigh of appreciation. “Though now that I’m here, I might take it in, if that’s okay.”
“Of course,” Cordelia said.
“I only stopped by to check on a couple of details about tomorrow’s concert, but you know Ekaterina.” Minerva was inhaling the fragrance of her two small bowls of soup, as if trying to decide which to start with. “If you walk through her doors anywhere near mealtime, she won’t rest till she’s fed you. That’s not a complaint, of course.”
“Is this seat taken?”
Ezekiel Blaine was standing by the fourth chair at our table, holding his tray. Ruth was standing by his right leg, tail wagging.
“It is now,” Cordelia said, with a smile.
“Set your food down and get comfortable,” Minerva said.
Ezekiel seemed to be waiting for permission from all three of us. I hurried to swallow the bit of Gorgonzola I was nibbling.
“Please, take it,” I said. “Before Godfrey Norton sneaks back in to grab it.”
They all three chuckled at that, and Ezekiel took the open seat. Ruth turned around a couple of times before settling down at his feet.
“Have you two met?” Cordelia asked. “Ezekiel Blaine, Minerva Burke.”
“Ezekiel is one of Festus’s exonerees,” I said to Minerva. “And in addition to being Chief Burke’s wife, Minerva is the director of the New Life Baptist Choir,” I added to Ezekiel.
“Oh, my,” Ezekiel said. “I’m impressed. Festus played me a recording of one of your concerts. Mighty fine.”
“Thank you,” Minerva said.
“They’ll be part of tomorrow night’s after-dinner program,” Cordelia added.
“Yes,” Minerva said. “We’re the opening act for the fireworks show.”
“I particularly liked the range your group has,” Ezekiel said. “Hopping straight from a gospel hymn to a Bach cantata and nailing them both. And doing a darn fine job on some pretty difficult pieces.”
“Do you sing yourself?” Minerva asked.
“Used to,” he said. “Used to lead the choir sometimes, if there was a choir at whatever prison I was in. Hope to get into it again, when I find the right church.”
“Well, you come on down to New Life Baptist this Sunday,” Minerva said. “We’d love to have you, and just because we’ve got a choir doesn’t mean the congregation is allowed to slack off. We’re in favor of everyone making a joyful noise unto the Lord.”
“I just might do that,” Ezekiel said. He glanced over his shoulder. “If I’m still out free by Sunday.”
“I thought you were fully exonerated,” Minerva said.
“I am,” he said. “But if that Norton fellow comes back and says one word to me, I just might give way to temptation and punch him in the nose, and your husband’s going to have to lock me up again.”
“No worries about that,” Minerva said. “If he sets foot back on the Inn grounds, he’ll be the one getting locked up. I heard about what he did to your poor puppy.”
Just then my phone emitted the faint ding that signaled an arriving text. It was from Kevin.
“Why does the Gadfly keep calling and texting me to ask me to let him back in?” it said. “Back into what?”
“Cordelia kicked him out of the conference,” I texted back. “Just block him.”
He didn’t respond for a minute or so. Then another text came through.
“Give her my thanks.”
“Anything urgent?” Cordelia asked.
“Kevin’s turn to block the Gadfly,” I said. “And he said to give you his thanks for kicking the jerk out.”
Cordelia nodded, then turned and waved at someone. At Kevin, I realized. He was still at the table with the true-crime crew. And Amber Smith, who was sitting right beside him. The Black Widow, as Norton had called her. Why the rather ominous nickname? I thought of it as something you’d call a female serial killer, one with a track record of bumping off multiple husbands or lovers. As far as I knew, Amber had only been convicted of the one murder, and was in the process of being exonerated for that. The fact that Norton was the one giving her the nickname made me want to take her side, but I made a mental note to find out more about her case. And as the conversation at my table flowed on, I kept what I hoped was an unobtrusive eye on them.
A good thing Rose Noire wasn’t here, I decided. She was perceptive enough—and knew Kevin well enough—to have noticed what I noticed: that while he was doing his best to appear to be paying attention to the general conversation at his table, his focus was on Amber. And unlike me—or Cordelia, who had probably also noticed it—Rose Noire wouldn’t just smile and silently wish him well. She’d have begun teasing Kevin and encouraging him to invite Amber back to Caerphilly for family events and generally focusing way too much attention on their budding relationship. If it even was a relationship, rather than just the faint early days of one. Or maybe just a passing flirtation.
I’d have a word with Cordelia. And with Mother. Between the three of us, we could probably figure out ways to divert Rose Noire. Unless, of course, either of them thought Amber was “not precisely whom we would have chosen.” Long ago, in a rare, candid moment, Mother had uttered those very words about Samantha, my brother’s first fiancée. Not that she—or any of us—had done anything to undermine their relationship, but her departure from Rob’s life had been the cause for general rejoicing. But I’d been dubious about Samantha from the first time I’d met her. Amber, I liked.
“I’m going to save the rude voicemail Norton just left me,” Cordelia said, looking up from her phone. “Just in case he tries to claim that he reacted calmly and professionally to his expulsion. Does he really think dropping the F-bomb half a dozen times will intimidate me?”
The afternoon passed enjoyably. No doubt a few of the attendees weren’t thrilled at the Gadfly’s involuntary departure—either because they agreed with him or because they enjoyed the kind of drama he liked to provoke. But I think if we’d taken a survey, “good riddance to bad rubbish” would have been the overwhelming reaction.
In fact, only one person expressed any concern in my hearing.
Shortly after lunch, as most of the attendees were milling around, deciding which session to attend, I got a call from an unfamiliar number. The caller ID only said NAME UNAVAILABLE. I almost let it go to voicemail, but then I remembered how very many visiting relatives and out-of-town conference attendees just might have been given my number as someone they could turn to if they needed help.
So I excused myself from the conversation I’d been having with Amber and Ophelia at the registration table—which, now that registrations were over, had turned into a sort of general help desk and information table—and answered the call.
“You need to tell your grandmother to stop trying to silence me!”