Sixty-five

True to Esther’s word, the second floor was nearly full enough to reach the fire marshal’s maximum occupancy. Every spot was taken, and customers were using their time to do serious work. Even better, a coffee drink and snack sat within everyone’s reach.

The barista responsible for this efficient service greeted me with a grin.

“Pretty exciting, right?” Tucker whispered. “A full house on the second day, and a visit from a New York publishing executive.”

“How did it go down?”

“Well, when she first got here, she gave a pep talk, telling everyone that decades ago, she’d been a member of the first writers’ group that met here—”

“Wait, stop—” I needed a second to process that. “She said she was an original member of the Writer’s Block Lounge?”

“That’s right. Then she announced that she would be happy to listen to a five-minute pitch from anybody who wanted to give one. She warned them that she wouldn’t be asking for written proposals from everyone, but she would do her best to provide suggestions and advice. You should have seen the stampede!”

Tuck sounded like a proud parent. “Tony Tanaka moved like blue lightning to be the first in line, and I noticed the editor gave extra time to his pitch, along with the one by our horror rom-com filmmaker, Mason Dunn.”

“I’ve got to meet this editor. Where is she?”

“Over there at the corner table. Right now she’s meeting with Howie.”

I followed Tuck’s gaze and quickly spotted Howard Johnson’s orange roof. Then I saw the mysterious editor. The woman’s short white blond hair and tailored Tom Wolfe suit blew me backward two steps.

Just last night I had watched this same woman remain as cool as an arctic cucumber while facing down the fury of a fiery Addy Babcock in the basement of the Grand Maison Hotel. Their verbal war had been disturbing enough to enter my nightmare as a violent Fire and Ice brawl.

“What is this editor’s name, Tucker?”

“It’s Joan something. I have her business card—” He reached into his apron pocket. “Yes, her name is Joan Gibson.”

I gaped at Tuck. “Are you sure?”

He showed me the card.

JOAN GIBSON

VP and Publisher, Gibson Books

Plenary Partners Book Group, Inc.

This was no coincidence. Our visiting editor, a former member of the original Writer’s Block group, was the very same Joan Gibson who’d signed Mr. Scrib to publish the truth about the unsolved murder of Ace Archer.

Joan Gibson, who Addy Babcock claimed she’d never heard of, was a woman she’d known for decades!

Addy lied to me. But why?

My blood turned to ice when I remembered something else. Detective Russell had interviewed Ms. Gibson this very morning.

Is that why she’s here? Is she looking for answers, too?

The timing of this woman’s visit was clearly suspicious, but also auspicious, because I had questions, and plenty of them.

I couldn’t be sure of much when it came to the attack on Mr. Scrib, or Addy’s lies, or Ace Archer’s murder. But I was certain of one thing: Joan Gibson wasn’t leaving here until I got some answers.