A tall, slender woman about my age entered the Fox and Hound. Her shiny brown hair brushed the shoulders of a button-down oxford shirt tucked into black jeans. She kept her hand on the door as her eyes searched the crowd. When they lit upon Croft, she lifted her other hand to get his attention.
Something like joy crossed his usually gruff face, then drained away as he hurried over to her. I held up my finger to Declan and sidled close enough to hear their exchange.
“What’s wrong?” Croft asked in a stage whisper. “Is your sister still coming?”
So this must be Phoebe, the sister/assistant.
“She’s right outside,” the woman responded in a soothing tone. “I’m just checking to make sure everything is ready for her. She doesn’t like waiting.” Her eyes flicked to the podium. “Is there bottled water? Did you crack the seal as I asked?”
“Of course,” Croft said, impatient. “Everything has been ready for an hour now. People are starting to get restless. If she doesn’t get in here, they’re going to start walking out.”
Phoebe’s smooth demeanor cracked. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barrow. We’ve been behind schedule all day, and tonight we were particularly late because there was a . . . situation . . . my sister had to take care of.”
What does she mean by “particularly late”?
Did Dana Dobbs always arrive late to author events? From what I’d read in the Savannah Morning News, How to Do Marriage Right was her fourth book, and she was on the radio three days a week. Busy, I could understand, but keeping people waiting for this long was downright rude.
“Well, get her in here,” Croft said, equally unimpressed.
The doctor’s sister nodded, her gaze sweeping over the crowd. Then she turned and opened the door, gesturing to someone out on Broughton Street. The room grew quiet as everyone realized the star was about to arrive.
Suddenly, the door was jerked wider, and Dr. Dana Dobbs clicked into the Fox and Hound on four-inch heels. Her golden hair was sculpted into a retro flip, and she wore a light blue, long-skirted wool suit that looked like it was from the fifties. Mascara, salmon pink lipstick, and a dusting of rouge completed the Mad Men look.
A couple of steps inside, she paused. Her large brown eyes scanned the eager crowd, and despite her very put-together look, I sensed anxiousness. A split second later it was gone, and her lips curved up in a regal smile.
Croft hurried forward, holding out his hand. “Here she is! Welcome, Dr. Dana! Everything’s ready.”
She shook his hand twice, then let it drop. “Thank you so much, you dear man. I’m delighted to be in your little bookstore.” Her words drawled out sweetly, but there was just enough condescension in her tone to make me frown.
I saw the skin tighten across Croft’s features and knew he’d caught it, too.
Behind Dr. Dana, a man filled the still-open door to the street. He wore a blue sports coat over an open-collared white shirt and dark blue jeans and carried a leather folio bag with a handle. His chestnut hair curved toward his collar, accenting the handsome lines of his face. Phoebe hustled toward him and put out her hand. He nodded, reached into the bag, and handed her a sheaf of papers, then ambled to the seat she pointed to.
Croft hurried behind the podium and turned on the microphone. I winced as his voice thundered throughout the room. “The woman you have all been waiting for has arrived.” He turned the volume down to a more bearable level. “I’m sure you’re all quite familiar with her work, both on the radio waves and in print. So without further ado, please give a warm welcome to Dr. Dana Dobbs!”
Applause smattered from the audience. The author marched up to take Croft’s place behind the podium and surveyed the room. Phoebe scurried up and handed her sister the papers, then faded to the side. Everyone else settled in their chairs, including the man who had been regaling us with the sad tale about his fiancée. Declan came around to where I stood. He leaned against the wall, and I leaned against him. He put his arms around me and rested his chin against my temple.
“Thank you all so much for coming. I know there are a lot of places you could be on a Saturday evening, and I’m honored that you chose to come to . . . to . . . here,” Dr. Dana finished with a little smile.
“She doesn’t know the name of the bookstore,” Declan murmured into my ear.
“I bet she’s been to so many that they all run together,” I whispered back, trying my best to be charitable. “Besides, her sister probably sets it all up.” Never mind that since she lived in Savannah, she should have been familiar with all the local bookstores.
Dr. Dana reached under the podium and drew out a bottle of water. She removed the cap and lifted it to take a sip. When she saw the label, the smile on her face froze, and she slowly lowered the bottle again. Her eyes sought out her sister, whose eyes widened when she saw the water. The celebrity’s delicate nostrils flared.
Phoebe hurried to the man who had followed them in from the street. With a wry look, he reached into the leather bag at his feet and handed her a bottle of water. Quickly, she twisted off the cap and took it to Dr. Dana.
“Sorry!” Phoebe whispered. “I told them which brand, but—”
Dr. Dana’s eyes narrowed, and she grabbed the bottle. After taking a delicate sip, she placed it under the podium.
I twisted my head to look up at Declan. “What was that all about?”
He rolled his eyes. “She probably only drinks rare water from an underground spring in the south of Monrovia.”
I gave him a gentle pinch. “Be nice.”
“I’m not the one who showed up late, insulted Croft, and then makes everyone wait while she gets her special beverage.”
Ben shifted on one foot to lean closer to us. In a barely audible voice, he said, “I’m with you, Deck. Let’s get this show on the road. It’s getting late, and I’ve got an eight o’clock tee time at Crosswinds tomorrow morning.”
“Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Thanking you, my dear readers—and listeners,” Dr. Dana said. “How many of you listen to my nationally syndicated radio program?”
Half the hands in the audience shot up, including Margie’s.
“Wonderful! So that means many of you are already familiar with my husband, Nathan Dobbs, whom I often talk about on the program.” Her arm extended in a royal gesture as she smiled at the handsome man who had followed her inside. “Nate, the love of my life, and the reason I felt compelled to write this book.”
One side of his mouth turned up in a half smile.
“You see,” Dr. Dana continued, “we’ve been together for twenty years, and during that time we figured out how to do marriage right! Every day we are so happy and grateful to have each other, and I wanted to pass on how we make that happen so that every one of my readers and listeners can unearth the same kind of bliss in their own relationships.”
Declan gave me a squeeze and whispered in my ear, “I’m going to have to pick up a copy of that book.”
“I don’t think we really need someone to tell us how to get along,” I replied.
“Maybe it’s different once you’re married,” he said.
I patted him on the arm but didn’t reply. Lately he’d hinted a lot about moving in together and sometimes mentioned future plans that included children. However, after my last disastrous engagement—a major reason I’d left Akron for Savannah—I was inclined to move a bit slower.
“The key,” Dr. Dana went on, “is complete honesty.”
Well, duh.
“Trust. Radical Trust.”
The way she said it made me envision the term followed by a trademark symbol.
“My husband and I have no secrets whatsoever. I know everything he does all day long, and he knows everything I do.”
Okay . . .
The short woman who was sitting next to Margie laughed. Margie turned to look at her, mouth automatically pursed into a shh as if the stranger was one of her children. The woman ignored her.
Dr. Dana looked down at the front row. Her eyes widened for a fraction before she licked her salmon-tinted lips and continued in a distracted tone. “We have GPS trackers on each other’s phones. We have lists of each other’s passwords—for everything imaginable.”
The petite woman turned to look at the author’s husband. My gaze followed hers in time to see the unguarded look of distaste on his face before it was replaced with a smooth mask of disinterest.
“And we regularly check each other’s texts and voice mails,” Dr. Dana said.
The woman next to Margie shot to her feet. “That’s crazy!”
The author blanched, then quickly recovered her poise. “On the contrary,” she replied. “It’s honesty.”
“It’s an invasion of privacy!” the portly man who had so enjoyed the bacon jalapeño corn pones said. Unlike the dark-haired woman, he remained seated. However, his voice was deep and loud enough for everyone to hear. “And pretty awful advice, by the way. Just like the rest of your relationship wisdom. My fiancée was so insulted when I ran a background check on her—which, among other things, you advised me to do on your radio show—that our relationship nearly ended. Luckily, I backed off, and we’re married now. But I can just imagine what she’d think if I started reading her private e-mail.”
I saw Sophie duck her head as if embarrassed.
“Now, folks.” Croft started forward. “Let’s just settle—”
Dr. Dana cut him off with a raised palm, and he stopped short. “No, no.” She shook her head at her detractor. “You don’t understand. Only by being completely honest and open with one another can you really make marriage work. Your wife must have been hiding something.” She nodded sagely. “In fact, she probably still is.”
Now Sophie turned bright red.
Declan murmured, “I take it back. We definitely don’t need her book.”
The petite woman next to Margie stabbed the air with her finger. “Well, I called into your radio program, too. And I was dumb enough to follow your advice to tell my husband about something in my past. You know what, Miss Smarty-Pants marriage expert? I’m divorced now.” She sat down again and folded her arms across her chest.
Margie stared at her seatmate with a wounded, bewildered expression. I knew later I’d hear my neighbor’s strong opinions about someone crashing a book reading for no better reason than to heckle the author—probably over a glass of her favorite pink wine. At least I hoped so. In fact, I wouldn’t have minded a glass of it right then. I cast my attention around the room, trying to get a feel for where things might go next. Ben was frowning, and Lucy’s face was worried. None of us were particular fans of Dr. Dana’s, but we all wanted things to go well for Croft’s sake.
The talk show host shook her head and looked sympathetically at her critic. “Dear, I’m so very sorry. But a successful marriage cannot tolerate secrets of any kind. I’m afraid your divorce was—”
Mungo let out a loud yip! and suddenly ran out from under the buffet table. Stunned, I watched him beeline toward the podium.
Midsentence, Dr. Dana looked down and saw him coming toward her. Her eyes grew wide, and her mouth formed an O of surprise before she opened it wider to scream.