Chapter 11

The panel was set up like every other one at the conference: two long tables on a riser at the front of the room. A cardboard nameplate identified each scholar’s place, and there were glasses and a pitcher of water waiting for us to share. Rows of folding chairs filled the rest of the room. Although I’d arrived a few minutes early, not a single empty seat remained, and there were individuals standing along the back wall.

My stomach flipped and I turned to go back out into the hallway, only to come face to face with the Raleighs. Simone paused to speak with me, but Selene swept by. Beckett gave me a rueful smile—a silent acknowledgment of his fiancée’s icy blast—and followed in her wake as if towed by a rope.

“Are we ready, Lila?” Simone’s crossed arms hugged a black three-ring binder to her chest. A matching binder had been delivered to my hotel room while I was at the after-party, with instructions to bring my current manuscript to the panel today.

They were really making up this thing as they went along.

Not great for the nerves, honestly.

I’d been too tired last night to do anything about it, so I’d had to pop into the “business office” of the hotel—which had two ancient desktop computers, two newer printers, a pair of scissors, a stapler and a three-hole punch—after breakfast. I’d punched holes into my pages as fast as I could and shoved them into the binder. I’d managed to swing it, but these requirements were definitely ratcheting up the pressure.

Simone’s eyes roved over the audience. “I love reading in public. There’s just something about the crowd hanging on your every word.”

Hanging on your every word? That had not been my experience. Mostly, I tried to will them to remain in their seats at least until I’d finished.

“You did a fine job the other day,” she said. “At your panel.”

I waited for the forthcoming burn, the drop of acid that sizzled as it landed.

She smiled at me.

“Thank you,” I murmured, but I was confused. I knew how to handle the agenda-propelled insult-wrapped-inside-a-compliment Simone. This new version was throwing me for a loop.

Then again, maybe that was her plan all along.

She gave a shimmy of excitement. “Ooh. They’re waving at us. It’s almost showtime.”

Simone strutted up to the table, nimbly ascended the riser, and took a seat next to Beckett, who was farthest away from us. As I followed, I tripped over a cord on the floor and headed for a face plant. With a crouching quick step, I somehow managed to stop myself halfway and wrench my body upwards.

Which was all well and good, except that I appeared to be bowing to my panel mates.

In front of everyone.

Perfect.

I climbed the steps and fell into my seat next to Selene, who was repositioning the microphone between us, and tried to regain some dignity by acting like nothing had happened. When I leaned forward to retrieve the binder from my bag, I hit my forehead on the mic, which squealed loudly. The audience members covered their ears as I apologized.

Selene snickered at the success of her little prank. I didn’t bother to look at her as I put my fingers to the spot on my head that was surely turning red at that very moment. It was tender but not bleeding, so I had no excuse to run from the room. Sadly. At least it had distracted me from the butterflies that had previously been using my stomach as a punching bag. So there was that.

I couldn’t figure out what Selene was up to, though. Wouldn’t you think that if you’d been caught cheating on your fiancé, you’d not try to infuriate the one person who could tell the world? She seemed to be doing the opposite, orchestrating a microphone injury. That was not a normal thing to do. Was she daring me to say something? Did she want the world to know? Or maybe she wanted to break up with Beckett but didn’t have the guts, so was tricking me into doing her dirty work for her?

I shook my head to clear that line of reasoning and sucked in my breath at the sharp pain emanating from what was surely, by now, a highly noticeable mark that was gaining visibility by the second. No worries. I’d just do my reading with a giant red circle on my forehead. It was the inside part I was worrying about now.

Note to self: no sudden movements.

Second note to self: start carrying a hat in case of head injury.

A wave of dizziness passed over me. My brain seemed to be on overload. It was either the nervousness about the panel or Selene had knocked me into delirious mode.

I gripped the table to center myself and counted to ten. She was not going to beat me before I even got started.

A flutter in my peripheral vision drew my attention. Calista and Nate gave me thumbs-ups from their chairs in the middle of the room. They made faces too—my cousin blew me a kiss and Nate did what I thought at first was some sort of strong-man imitation, his version of telling me to be strong.

Then I realized he was mouthing “Hulk smash.” I giggled. That helped.

Even if it triggered another blast of pain in my injury site.

Lex slipped into the room and leaned against the back wall. He winked at me. That helped too.

Acadia moved swiftly down the center aisle and joined us onstage, positioning herself at the midpoint of the table. “Welcome, everyone. Thank you for joining us for the first-ever New Voices Award panel. Our judges, who will not be revealed until after the award has been determined, are here with us now. The structure for this panel is as follows. Each author will read for ten minutes. When all four authors have presented, they will take questions from the audience on their topics. You should have found some index cards on your chairs when you came in. As you listen to the panelists read, please feel free to write down your questions. They’ll be collected after the readings. Then I’ll ask some of your questions, blended in with”—she held up a bundle of index cards—“questions from the judges, which I have already gathered. And now, I’d like to introduce our panelists. All of them have books forthcoming from Fairlake University Press.”

She gestured to the far end of the table. “First, we have Dr. Beckett Standhouse.”

“The third,” Selene said loudly, just as she had when introducing him at the book signing. She was really invested in that, I guess.

Acadia blinked a few times and continued. “Beckett is an assistant professor at Fairlake University and author of War Imagery in the Work of Flynn McMaster.” She went on to list the academic journals in which he had published articles. The majority of them, I noticed, were on Flynn McMaster.

Beckett blushed furiously and bobbed his head throughout her entire introduction, as if he were listening to a song through an invisible pair of earplugs.

“Next, we have Dr. Simone Raleigh and Dr. Selene Raleigh, co-authors of Brontë and Dare: Double Trouble. Selene is also at Fairlake University, and Simone is from Stonedale University. Both are assistant professors.” She gave the title of a chapter scheduled to appear in another anthology, also co-written by the sisters.

The twins gave those odd sideways waves like they were princesses passing by the commoners in a carriage. Dainty and indifferent.

“Finally, Dr. Lila Maclean, assistant professor at Stonedale University, is the author of Beyond the Veil: Isabella Dare and the Gothic.” I dipped my head once, slowly, and tried to smile. That was all I could manage. My face was aflame and my head had begun to throb.

Acadia paused. “I hadn’t realized until I read those introductions aloud how perfectly balanced this is: we have two professors from Stonedale University and two from Fairlake University. May the best school win!”

I hadn’t even considered the representing-our-school part until now. Added pressure, that. I was sure Chancellor Wellington would have an opinion on the subject.

The audience turned their full attention to us. I’d never felt more like a pet waiting to be adopted.

“Let’s mix things up, shall we?” Acadia asked, sounding like she was proposing something daring. “Rather than just going down the line, we’ll work from the outside in. Lila, why don’t you go first, then Beckett, then Simone and Selene, in whichever order you two prefer.”

I opened my binder slowly and began to read. While I may have looked calm on the outside, my heart was racing along with my thoughts on the inside. I concentrated on keeping my voice steady—it has a tendency to quaver when I read my own writing aloud in front of a crowd—and remembering to breathe.

Using a trick someone had taught me about keeping my eyes on the page until the initial wave of nerves passed, I read the first two pages focusing intently on the words. I dared to look up at that point and realized that the audience was smiling and nodding enthusiastically. My muscles began to relax and the reading became easier and more enjoyable. The rest of the selection went by in a blur, and after I said the last word, there was a burst of loud applause.

Beckett went next—and although he cleared his throat for almost a full minute upfront and his face turned beet-red, he soon settled into a smooth pattern, his pleasant voice and sense of humor winning over the crowd. We all applauded eagerly for him.

When he was done, Simone smiled at the crowd before beginning, which was an advantage. There was no doubt that the twins were drop-dead gorgeous. All that Beckett and I could do was hope the judges weren’t factoring our looks into the equation. He was handsome enough, but they were Grace Kelly clones, with allure in spades. Simone read a lively section about Jane Eyre, and the audience seemed to hang on her every word, just like she’d predicted they would. If she ever wanted a job as some sort of on-air talent, I was sure she could land one in a snap. In general, I’d wager, she could pretty much do anything she wanted. At the conclusion, she bowed her head gracefully.

Selene applauded along with everyone else and turned to face the audience.

“I—” She stopped, her mouth half-open, then her hand flew to her neck and she pitched forward onto her binder, her head twisted toward her sister. The room gasped.

Simone put her arm on her twin’s back and called out her name. She peered into her face and screamed for help.

The room exploded with activity all at once. Acadia whipped her phone out and was talking to someone immediately. Some people turned to their neighbors and asked what was going on. Others jumped to their feet and ran out. Still more stayed, milling around anxiously. Throughout, Simone was gently shaking her sister.

“She’s breathing,” she said. “Thank God.”

“Should we sit her up?” I asked, worried about her position.

“I don’t think she should be moved,” Acadia said. “You’re supposed to leave people where they are when they’re in an accident.”

Beckett ignored that and pulled Selene backwards out of the chair into his arms. He sank down onto the floor behind the table where we’d been sitting and cradled her, crooning something quietly. We formed a circle around her, watching closely. She looked oddly serene but uncannily still. Like a beautiful, terrifying doll.

I heard Lex’s voice telling people to go out into the hallway. Gradually, the room quieted, and he came around the riser to join us.

He surveyed the situation, introduced himself as Detective Archer, and asked what happened.

“She fainted or something,” Beckett said. “Out of nowhere.”

“Has she fainted before?” Lex asked Simone, who was kneeling next to her sister, holding her hand.

She didn’t take her eyes off of Selene’s face.

Lex tried again. “I’m sorry, Simone, but we need to ask. Is there anything we should know about? Does she have a history of fainting?”

Simone shook her head. “She’s quite healthy, physically. Never gets sick.”

Just then, Selene stirred. She blinked slowly, opened her eyes, and shrank back when she saw all of us gazing down at her. “What’s happening?” She sounded scared.

“You passed out, honey.” Beckett spoke to her gently. “Can you sit?” He tilted her slightly and she stayed there, looking confusedly up at us.

“Here,” Acadia said, thrusting a small bottle of orange juice at Selene. “This should help.”

“Thank you,” Selene moved into a sitting position, unscrewed the cap and, after a few sips, gave a decisive nod. “I’m feeling better now. So sorry, everyone.”

We all reassured her that it was fine.

“Oh! We were in the middle of the panel.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I ruined it, didn’t I?”

“No,” Simone sat down next to her. “You’re fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“But how can someone win now?” She wiped her cheeks.

“No one cares about winning,” I said. “We’re just glad you’re okay.”

Selene gave me a suspicious look, as if she didn’t quite believe me.

“I mean it.”

“Thank you, Lila.”

The paramedics burst into the room, evaluated Selene, and dismissed us. Lex and I moved toward the back row, where Richmond and Candace were waiting with solemn faces.

As I walked past the empty chairs, a text came in from Calista, saying that I’d done a great job and asking me to please send her an update as soon as I could. She and Nate were worried about me. There were a lot of heart emojis at the end of her message.

“Everything okay up there, Detective Archer?” Richmond’s hearty voice belied his appearance. His suit was wrinkled and his pocket square hung from its perch as if dejected.

“Appears to be,” Lex affirmed. “She’s regained consciousness.”

“Good news.” He pulled a small cloth out of an inside pocket and unfolded it. “Good, good, good.”

“We’ve been sitting back here feeling quite helpless,” Candace said. Her hands were clasped together in her lap, giving her a composed air, but she’d missed a button and her whole jacket was off-kilter, with a gap at her sternum. “And hoping that it wasn’t anything like...you know...the other night.”

“Candace means she hopes it wasn’t fatal. No chance of that, right?” Richmond gaped at Lex.

“Not as far as we know. It doesn’t appear to be serious.”

“Excellent,” Richmond said, wiping his glasses with the cloth. “Speaking of the other night, any theories on what happened to Ellis?”

“We’re following up on leads,” Lex said. “As you may have heard, Ellis was hit with a metal bar. It looks to have been wiped clean but we’re still analyzing it. We’ve conducted interviews with a number of people.”

“In other words, you have no idea,” Richmond drawled. He held his glasses up to the light and squinted through them.

“I’d say we’re in the middle of the process,” Lex said tightly.

“Again, I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said to the editors.

Candace’s eyes shone with tears. “Thank you, Lila.”

Oh no. I hadn’t meant to make her cry again. I tried to move to safer topics.

“You both have said that you knew him for years, right? Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to attack him?”

“No,” Richmond said. “He didn’t really get into tangles with other people. Bit of a loner. He just liked to sit in his office and read literature and write about it.”

“Very good scholar,” Candace added. “Renowned in his field, actually.”

“How was he as a teacher?” Lex inquired.

They stared at each other, silently conferring.

Richmond gave in first. “Not the strongest, if I’m being honest. Students often complained that all he does is lecture.”

“Which used to be considered a perfectly legitimate teaching method,” Candace said. “For decades. But nowadays, there’s pressure to be more interactive. You know what I mean, Lila.”

I nodded.

“He was talking about retiring next year, anyway. Wanted to go down to Florida and get a little house on the beach with his wife.”

A wave of sadness went through me.

“Long overdue, if you ask me. We’re both turning seventy this year.” Richmond’s face changed, perhaps as he realized that Ellis would not be celebrating his next birthday.

Lex went on. “Aside from working on the book, did you spend time together?”

Richmond emitted something between a cough and a bark. “Absolutely. We were colleagues both on and off campus.”

“Our families vacationed together last year.” Candace pressed her fingertips just below her eyes. “He was a great husband, father, and friend.”

“We did.” Richmond nodded in agreement. “We talked about our book on the beach, remember?”

“He was so excited.” She looked at Richmond. “I don’t know what we’ll do without him, going forward.”

Richmond sniffed and his shoulders slumped. “Don’t even know if there is a way forward. Not after what Flynn did last night.”

“True.” Candace patted his shoulder. “But let’s try not to think about that right now.”

“Can’t you just ignore what Flynn said?” I asked. “It’s only his opinion, anyway. Who says he gets to decide?”

Richmond stared at me. “It’s his opinion, true, but since he’s the toast of the town at present, and visible on a grand scale, it goes a long way. A very long way.”

“Even longer on social media.” Candace shook her head. “Hanover is doing his best—he hasn’t budged from his hotel room since the dinner, if you can believe it, because he’s been working so hard—but there’s only so much that he can do. Flynn’s speech went viral.”

“What about no publicity is bad publicity? That’s a thing, right?” I heard myself reversing what I’d said after the dinner, but suddenly I saw the value of the sentiment—it’s useful for when there’s nothing else to say and you have to dredge it up in order to be able to say anything at all.

“It is,” Candace agreed.

“Or isn’t there one about waiting for the next news cycle because everyone will then forget about this news cycle?” I was having trouble coming up with the exact words, but there had to be something that would make them feel better.

“It’s heartbreaking,” Richmond said. “You have no idea how hard we had to fight to make this series happen. First the university, then the board of trustees—and oh, the hoops that had to be jumped through for funding. Many people couldn’t see the vision.”

Candace took up the thread. “We thought we were so blessed to have access to a superstar like Flynn. Thought the critical guides would sell themselves. How ironic.”

“Didn’t they sell out this weekend?” I asked softly.

“That’s true.” She closed her eyes for a moment.

Richmond harrumphed. “In a nutshell, it was a coup. We knew it, he knew it, and so did everyone else. It was a tremendous launch. Then for him to just decimate it—us—in that way. With one speech. It was a knockout.”

“We never saw it coming.” Candace looked down, noticed the gap in her jacket, and repositioned her hands over it coolly. She was genuinely unflappable.

“In any case, we’re done with the series now. He saw to that.” Richmond studied his fingernails. “I’d also like to do a recall of all the books we sold this weekend. Erase the whole thing. Forget it ever happened.”

Candace swung her head around. “You can’t, Richmond.”

He met her eyes and shook his head sadly. “I know. It’s not up to me, anyway. We need to give that money to the investors. And it wouldn’t be fair to the scholars who are published there, either. At least they’ll get some good out of it. As long as their schools don’t hear the negative review that Flynn gave their chapters, that is.”

We all pondered the damage that Flynn had done. The ripples moving outward would have an impact on a number of other people’s lives.

When everything went quiet, it seemed like a good time to gather up my things from the table. Excusing myself, I hurried over to the riser and slid the binder into my satchel. As I fastened the flap, I saw Selene’s binder resting on the table. Perhaps Richmond and Candace would want to hold onto it.

I picked it up, went down the stairs, and promptly tripped on the same cord from before. This time, I did a full face plant.

In front of my boyfriend and publisher.

Not optimal.

Seeing them lurch forward in their chairs, arms reached out as if they could catch me, I assured them that I was unhurt and begged them to stay in their seats.

Gingerly, I did a reverse inchworm and righted myself, reaching over to get Selene’s binder, which had fallen open.

I did a double take.

Settling the binder in my lap, I flipped back to the beginning and went through, page by page.

They were all blank.