Chapter 9

Flynn went on to show us the trailer for the fourth film in the series—also known as the “first in the second trilogy”—due out next year. We were, he told us, the first to lay eyes on it anywhere. That earned him even more points back from the crowd.

Then he told us some behind-the-scenes anecdotes that had people laughing so hard they were wiping tears away. All seemed to be forgiven by most.

His charm was undeniable.

His storytelling ability was admirable.

His attack on my publisher, however, had been terrible.

When the lights came up, I went over to where Richmond and Candace remained. Meredith and Hanover were nowhere to be seen.

Richmond was staring at his empty water glass.

“I’m so sorry—” I began.

“Nothing to be said about it. Nothing at all,” Richmond said, shifting his eyes to me. “He took us down. He did. We’ll just have to fight our way back up.”

Candace had turned sideways in her seat and was watching him intently. “We’ll figure something out,” she said consolingly to Richmond. “Don’t worry.”

“Oh!” He turned to her in surprise. “But we’re already on it, Candace. That’s where Meredith and Hanover have gone. Back to their rooms to make necessary calls. Sound the alarm. Rally the troops. In fact, we should go join them.”

“Do you need any help? If there’s anything I can—”

“Thank you, Lila. We’ll let you know.” Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood for consolation. He lifted his chin, straightened his tie, and pushed back his chair. When Candace followed suit, he offered her his arm and she took it. They moved away and were quickly swallowed up by the crowd.

“Well, that was something else,” Calista said, appearing at my elbow.

Nate shook his head. “He turned that keynote speech into...I don’t even know what to call it. A self-help seminar with bonus movie clips?”

“It was like a cult meeting.” Calista’s expression was thoughtful. “Do you think Flynn was under the influence of something? That might explain a few things. I mean, who does he think he is to tell everyone they’re reading his books wrong?”

“He might have just been high on fame. But more importantly, how are you feeling, Lila?” Nate searched my face for an indication.

“I don’t know. There’s a little embarrassment that my publisher has been shamed, maybe, mixed in with some pretty strong curiosity about what the essays said that Flynn found so offensive.”

“Maybe we should ask him directly?” Calista tipped her head toward the stage.

“Did he put his complaints on the flyer?” I glanced at their hands, which were empty. “That sure would make everything easier.”

“I don’t think so, but she didn’t come to our table yet.” Nate craned his neck to find her. “She’s right there. Hi there!” He waved.

The woman handing out coupons broke away from Acadia, who appeared to be livid, and sidled over. “Thank you. I was getting chewed out.”

“Why?” Calista widened her eyes.

“She thinks I should have refused to help him after what he said up there. He ruined her keynote, she said. I get where she’s coming from, but what am I supposed to do? They told me to hand these out.” She held up a few pieces of paper. “Please take the last of them?”

“Definitely. We’ll take them off your hands.” Nate seized the flyers and passed them around.

She rolled her shoulders in relief. “Thank you. By the way, because you saved me, you get an invite to Flynn’s after-party. Free drinks. Interested? If anyone gives you a hard time at the door, tell them Acadia sent you.”

“Yes,” I said firmly before my friends could decline. I wanted to talk to Flynn, see what his relationship with Ellis was like. “Thank you for the invitation...” I squinted at her nametag. “Tanya.”

“Sure thing. Room 1020, the VIP floor. Party starts after the rodeo,” she said over her shoulder as she walked away.

“Wait, we’re going to a rodeo?” Nate asked, delighted.

“When in rodeo-land...” Calista replied.

“But first, there’s the square dance,” I reminded them. The wall that divided the ballroom from the other half of the event hall had been pushed back, and people were streaming over.

As we moved along with the crowd, a spritely gentleman with a long white beard took over the microphone and urged us to form groups of eight. The sound of bows rasping across strings, releasing tiny bursts of musical notes, came from the stage. While the bearded man introduced himself as our caller, Howard, we joined a group in the middle of the room. Without any discussion about it, Nate and I slid into one side of the square. Calista and a handsome bald professor who asked if she’d like to partner up were opposite us. To our left and right were couples I didn’t recognize.

Howard walked us through a number of the terms he’d be using—specifying how to perform steps like do-si-do and allemande left—before the band started up for real. We bowed to our partners, to the corners, and the dancing began. While promenading, I caught sight of Selene along the far wall, racing up to Beckett and throwing herself into his arms. They appeared to be picking up where they left off at the book signing.

I turned my attention back to the square dance. It wasn’t hard to follow the calls, but it moved quickly. After a few minutes, I had relaxed enough to enjoy it, aside from the very sweaty palms of one of my square-mates. During another promenade, I saw Simone walk up to her sister and pull her out of Beckett’s arms. I hoped she was giving her some sisterly advice on the inadvisability of Extreme PDA. But whatever they were talking about, it didn’t seem to be friendly. They were yelling right in each other’s faces.

If only the music wasn’t so loud, maybe I could hear what they were on about.

Then again, we were here to dance, not eavesdrop.

A few songs later, Howard told us that the tip was over and we’d be taking a short break. When we returned, he advised us we should form new groups of eight, mix things up.

We said thanks all around our square and drifted over near the door to take advantage of the cool breeze.

“Don’t know about you, but I am definitely ready for a break,” Nate said, wiping his forehead with his palm.

“I could leave,” Calista said. “How about you, Lila?”

“Sure. Rodeo time?”

“I’ve never been to a rodeo,” Calista said. “Though I have been to the rodeo museum in Colorado Springs.”

“Giddy up,” Nate said.

“Actually,” Calista corrected him, “I think ‘cowboy up’ is proper rodeo parlance. Though I may be remembering that wrong.”

“With all due respect,” Nate replied, “I’ll never give up my giddy up. Now let’s go find them horsies.”

  

The so-called “rodeo” was more like a short display of horse tricks. After we’d watched them jump and parade in a circle while we listened to some professors behind us argue about the welfare of animals involved in rodeos, we returned to the main hotel, a rather dejected trio.

“That wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be.” Nate punched the elevator button.

“Let’s not talk about it,” Calista said. “Instead, let’s focus on what happened at dinner. Why do you think Flynn did that? I feel for the scholars who wrote those essays.”

“I do too.” I pulled my jacket closed. It had gotten cold after the sun went down.

“Also for you, of course, Lil. Since it’s your publisher.”

“Thanks.”

“No one wants to be associated with a publisher that gets bad press,” Nate said.

“She knows that,” Calista snapped.

He looked hurt for an instant but shook it off, like a puppy who just got in trouble for shredding the newspaper.

“Sorry,” my cousin said to him. “I didn’t mean to lash out. It just made me furious that Flynn went off and Lila’s caught up in it.”

“I appreciate both of you,” I said. “Please know, however, that I am not going to worry about someone rejecting me because my book came out from the press that Flynn McMaster slammed. Not for a single second.”

“Boom! There you go.” Nate high-fived me.

“But I do feel bad for them. Why would he do that when they were so excited about him? Also, the editors were his colleagues at the university.”

“He must have known he was going to quit or he wouldn’t have even tried it,” Nate said. “He wouldn’t want to face them at another faculty meeting after humiliating them.”

“Perish the thought,” I said.

“He could have been trying to get attention,” Calista mused. “For sales?”

“You mean the no-publicity-is-bad-publicity idea?” I thought for a moment. “Doesn’t it seem obvious that bad publicity is bad publicity, though?” Oh no. Maybe Chancellor Wellington’s endless quest for good publicity was rubbing off on me.

Nate agreed. “And does Flynn really need more attention? That dude is everywhere right now. If not his books, then his films. If not his films, then the author himself doing interviews and whatnot.”

“You know, there is one thing we haven’t considered...”

They both stared at me.

“Couldn’t it have been just what Flynn said? I mean, I don’t know him at all, but is it possible he was simply being honest about how he felt? He thinks the scholars missed the point? Misread his work?”

Nate considered this. “He is a pretty straight shooter. Known in grad school for standing up for things he believed in. Professors even sometimes complained about the way he would get up on a soapbox.”

We stared at him this time.

“Well, they didn’t complain to his face,” Nate said. “I overheard some of the faculty in the copy room once. They felt that Flynn would try to cut them down to size about something they’d spent a lot of energy and time teaching. It was taken as a challenge to their authority.”

“I can understand why that would be annoying,” Calista nodded. “But were the things he took a stand on sensible? In other words, was Flynn simply trying to be a thorn in their sides, or did he really believe the things he said?”

“He really believed them.” Nate tapped a finger on his lips. It was distractingly cute. “I think, anyway.”

“But in this case, even if Flynn believes what he’s saying, he can’t stop scholars from writing whatever they want to write about his books. He doesn’t get to control how the books are interpreted. And as a professor, he knows that. So he actually has nothing to gain, does he?” I couldn’t make any sense of it.

“Except perhaps feeding his ego,” Calista mused. She turned to Nate. “Does he have a big ego?”

“Flynn always had a healthy ego. But the film deals may have kicked it up to the next level.” He paused as the doors opened with a ding.

We found ourselves face to face with the Raleighs and Beckett Standhouse. For a second, no one moved, then Nate and Beckett burst into hearty greetings and did one of those bear hugs with much back slapping. They’d gone to graduate school together too, I realized in the midst of their exclamations.

Somewhere in there, Nate invited them to come with us to the after-party. Simone and Selene both lit up at the invitation, and it became clear that we’d all be attending, so we rode together up to the tenth floor, where the VIP suites were located. Calista and Simone gave each other the side-eye the whole time. I smiled politely at the twins and pulled out my phone, then sent a message to Lex about Flynn McMaster’s after-party.

He texted back: You managed to get invited to the man of the hour’s party? You never cease to amaze me, Professor.

Ditto, I typed. Join us if you can.

  

Music was blaring, ricocheting off of the walls as we made our way to Flynn’s suite at the end of the hallway. The main area boasted a kitchen with marble island and high-end gadgetry next to a black lacquer dining table with twelve red leather chairs. Straight ahead, a wide balcony was visible through an open sliding glass door—in the moonlight, you could just barely make out the mountain tops. The town of Stonedale lay between here and there, creating rows of twinkling lights in the darkness.

On the other side of the room, a stone fireplace held court with three blue curved leather sofas and a massive round ottoman in the center. Every space was taken up by people talking and laughing, drinks in hand. Corridors shot off in both directions from the main room, heading presumably to sleeping areas and bathrooms. Or maybe to a chamber full of wizards or a stall where the unicorns lived. I actually had no idea what one might find in a VIP suite.

Flynn uncurled himself from the ottoman and ambled over to where we were clumped in the doorway. He gave both Beckett and Nate a hearty slap on the back. There were more hugs and exclamations. Then Flynn stopped short and stared at Simone and Selene.

“Oh,” he said, his voice dropping a notch. “Come in, please.” He’d transformed from frat boy to elegant bachelor without missing a beat. After they’d talked for a bit, he turned his attention to Calista and me. We introduced ourselves and said that it was very nice to meet him. He said the same. We were steered toward the dining table, which held a variety of drink fixings and finger foods. Everyone loaded up with refreshments of their choice and moved into the fireplace area. By some miracle, the majority of previous occupants had decided to go outside and stare at the night sky, so there was space for all of us.

Flynn was again on the ottoman, positioned in front of the curved sofa section on the right, chatting mostly with Beckett and Nate. The Raleighs were on the middle section, and my cousin and I took the left. Suited me fine. I could hear everything but didn’t feel pressured to talk.

I was biting into a veggie eggroll when I was almost blinded by the dazzle of Selene’s ring. Calista elbowed me and nodded that way, raising her eyebrows.

“They’re engaged,” I said.

“Who’s they?”

I mumbled, trying to be quiet. “Beckett and Selene.”

“Who?”

“Beckett and Selene,” said the woman herself, enunciating while dangling her hand in front of Calista. “Me. I’m Selene.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“Oh, no problem. We Raleighs have incredibly good hearing, among other things.” Of course they did.

I introduced Calista to Selene, officially. We’d ridden in the elevator together, but Nate and Beckett had been enthusiastically filling each other in on the happenings of their classmates since graduation, so there hadn’t been any additional conversation.

Simone looked over, pressing her lips together at the sight of her sister and my cousin talking.

Now it was my turn to elbow Calista. She followed my gaze and reached across Selene’s lap to touch Simone lightly on the wrist. “I’m sorry about before,” she said simply.

Simone studied her face as if expecting something else to follow but ultimately judging Calista to be sincere. She nodded once and said, “Thank you. And I’m sorry for just walking off like that.”

My mouth fell open. Never in my long history with Simone Raleigh had I ever received any sort of apology for her many trickeries.

Not that I could remember, anyway.

And even if I had received one, it most certainly had not been a real one.

Maybe Simone had thought about it and realized that it wasn’t politically smart of her to have any issue with a tenured professor. In which case, she would be right.

“’Scuse me,” a man with a crooked hat said, slurring slightly. “I’m cold.” He pointed toward the fireplace, and we all slid backwards to make room for him as he teetered delicately forward. When he had almost passed us, he tripped, waving his arms to regain his balance and throwing the dark brown contents of his glass into the air.

Most of it landed on Selene and Simone, who shrieked and leapt up. The man reached out to sop up the spill on the laps of the twins, who shrieked again and stepped out of his grasp.

“Don’t grope us,” Selene admonished him loudly. “You’ve already ruined our vintage Chanel.”

Flynn hustled the man off into the kitchen and returned with towels and a bottle of club soda and salt that he handed to the Raleighs. Several minutes passed while they attended to the dark stains. A profuse apology was made and accepted, though without much enthusiasm. Eventually, the twins were resettled on the sofa, mouths set in grim lines.

“Are you okay?” Flynn asked. “Very sorry about that, again.”

“It’s not your fault,” Simone said, softly.

“But tell your friend that it’s going to cost scads to clean these properly.” Selene said nastily, her eyes glittering.

“Please.” Her sister’s cheeks were flushed. “Let it go.”

“Fine. We’ll pay for it ourselves.” Selene drew herself up. “Fortunately, we can afford it.”

Well, that was a rather gauche comment. Even I knew that, and I had never taken etiquette lessons.

An awkward silence hovered over the room.

“Your ring is gorgeous,” Calista said brightly to Selene, attempting to distract her. “May I look at it more closely?”

Selene swayed her hand carelessly in front of us. I leaned in. The immense stone was cut in an unusual shape—like a snowflake, with six points jutting out from the center. Many carats were sitting on a thick gold band, with engraved swirls cascading down both sides.

“Stunning,” I murmured. “This may sound strange, but I feel like I’ve seen that exact ring before. Might I have seen it in a magazine?”

Selene laughed. “Hardly.”

“Is it a popular cut?”

She snatched her hand away and shook her head. “No, in fact, it’s a very rare cut. It was created especially for Beckett’s family. It’s been handed down for several generations from one bride to the other. Right, Simone?”

Simone shifted her eyes toward the ring and dipped her head in agreement.

Selene preened. “It’s ridiculously valuable. His grandmother was the last to wear it as a wedded woman. The Standhouses said they’re happy that someone in the family is getting married, so it doesn’t sit in a box. And you should see the diamond band that goes with it. To die for.”

“Does it come with its own security guard?” I joked.

“No,” Selene took my question seriously. “But I’m very careful where I wear it.”

“Hello, ladies.” Flynn slid gracefully around the ottoman so that he was facing the four of us. “What are we talking about?”

“Jewelry,” Selene said, tilting her hand down so he could see it. “Have you ever seen such a gorgeous engagement ring?”

“Never.” He bent over the ring and whistled. “Fancy. Must have cost a pretty penny.”

She lifted her fingers up and gave the ring a proud glance.

“Looks lovely on you,” he said.

“Thanks to Beckett.” She pointed with her pinkie at the man deep in conversation with Nate on the opposite sofa. “As you know.”

“I do know.” Flynn grinned. “He’s a good guy. One of the best.”

“So...” Calista said, fixing Flynn with a look. “You’re leaving academia? That’s a big decision.”

Flynn leaned back and crossed one of his impossibly long legs over the other. He took a swig from his highball glass before answering. “Yep. It’s time.”

“Did you really mean what you said, that the essays got everything wrong?” She stared at the author.

“No question.” He finished the rest of his drink and set the empty glass down on the floor.

“How?” I might as well jump in with both feet.

“Have you read them?”

“Not yet,” I admitted, while Calista shook her head. “But I will.”

“They’re extremely critical. They said I’m doing all of these things that I most certainly am not doing, and they missed all of the important things that I am doing.”

“I understand that it might be strange to read essays about your work,” Calista said. “But it’s called criticism for a reason.”

He laughed. “Very funny. But you and I both know that literary analysis doesn’t tend to skewer the author.”

“Sometimes it does, though,” I said, mentally lining up examples to share.

“Not like this.” Flynn put his palms up in resistance. “These are beyond. Way beyond.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, please, but I felt for those poor scholars,” Calista said.

“And the editors,” I added.

“What do you mean?” He spoke quickly, his eyebrows drawing together in displeasure.

Calista played with a loose thread on her dress. “Just that you devastated them in front of the entire conference.”

Flynn pursed his lips. “Well, they were devastating me in front of the entire world. None of the reviews were even half as bad as what those scholars wrote. I felt attacked.”

“Do you know any of the contributors?” I asked, taking the opportunity to push a little further. “Do you feel that it was personal?”

“No. That’s not what I meant. But I’d classify them as willful misreading.” He appeared genuinely upset. “You’ll see when you read them.”

“Did you think the editors are to blame, then?” As long as he would answer, I’d keep asking questions.

“I was thrilled that they even wanted to do the book in the first place. But when I read it...” Flynn shook his head. “It felt as though they had intentionally set me up. Strung me along. Told me how much they thought I’d love the essays. All the while knowing what they were going to publish. And don’t forget, they chose those. Specifically. So the editors shaped the entire tone.”

Calista frowned. “Is it possible that your response has to do with your expectations? Perhaps you expected them to say how great you are, like your fans do every day, and you were surprised when they didn’t?”

“It’s not that either, though I have to say, that theory sounds a bit condescending.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” Calista smiled at him. “Ever since dinner, it’s all we can think about. I’m throwing things out to see what sticks to the wall. Just tell us: What exactly did they get wrong?”

Our host looked at something behind us and sighed. “You know what? It doesn’t matter anymore. I said what I needed to say, and in a few weeks, I’ll be done worrying about higher education altogether. I’m out of Fairlake. I need to focus on the series. And luckily, my readers get me. The general population won’t be the least bit interested in buying into what some ivory tower analysis is selling. They appreciate me.”

Calista nodded, then downed the rest of her drink in one fell swoop.

“Have you spoken to any of your colleagues?” I asked, trying to bring the conversation around to Ellis.

“Well, there’s one right there,” he said, smiling at Selene.

She smiled back prettily.

He returned his attention to me. “But otherwise, no. Not since dinner.”

“I meant before tonight—did they know you were unhappy with the guide?”

“Ellis did.”

I tried to keep my facial expression neutral. “How did he know?”

“I emailed him. It was a comprehensive explanation of the issues with a plea for him to take action. But he must not have cared about that because he never wrote me back.”

“Did you try again to tell him at the conference?”

“Well, there wasn’t much of a chance, was there?” He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you so interested? I’m starting to feel like you’re implying something.”

“I’m not implying anything. Just trying to figure out what’s going on.”

“Why?”

“Lila’s a sleuth!” Calista said happily, then hiccupped.

“Ah.” Flynn gave me an appraising look.

“It’s true,” Calista insisted. “She has solved many crimes.”

I stared at her. “I wouldn’t say—”

Flynn cut me off. “That may be so, but this is not a game of Clue. Ellis was my colleague. Those of us who knew him are genuinely grieving.” His face went smooth, like a shutter closing, and his tone went flat. “And for the record, I’m not a murderer.”

I nodded. “Sorry. No one is accusing you of anything. Probably time for us to go, Cal,” I said firmly, pulling her up and leading her away from the couch.

“I’m sorry,” Calista whispered. “I shouldn’t have said that. Also, I think I may have had too many drinks.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Let’s just go.”

I thanked Flynn for the party as we circled the ottoman.

He didn’t respond.

“Speaking of your series, how many more books will you be writing?” Selene rested her elbows on her knees, all glowing anticipation. “Don’t think I’ve mentioned this, but I truly adore your books, Flynn. I’ve read them all at least five times.”

Flynn sat forward abruptly. “No kidding? That’s fabulous. Which do you prefer?”

“The Cave of the Sibyl. No question. The Prophetess may be my favorite character ever written.”

He tucked a wayward strand behind his ear. “She appeared to me in a dream, you know.”

“How fascinating.” Selene slipped off of the sofa and onto the ottoman next to him. They tipped their heads closely together and were lost to the rest of us almost immediately.

Simone stretched gracefully like a cat. “I think I’ll call it a night. We have our little panel tomorrow. Need to be at our best, don’t we, to show those judges who should win?” She winked at me.

I took note of her confidence. She wasn’t worried about me at all.

As usual.