Page 34 of Killer on the First Page

Miranda would remember that smile, one of sadness more than ire, of envy more than anger. A smile of someone neglected.

* * *

MIRANDA MADE HERway back to the reception. Writers! So exhausting! she thought. Geri was serving the mini crepes with Castelvetrano olives, meaning Bea’s peach cobbler would be next in line. Finally!

Kane Hamady passed by, sidestepping the tray of crepes like a toreador. “Watch it, sister.”

Edgar had left to return the key to its hook and check in with Andrew, who was minding the book table. When Edgar returned ten minutes later, he had a sour look on his face.

“Andrew said we didn’t sell any books,” he told Miranda. “Peopledo know this is a book event, right? Not just a chance to scarf down free food.”

“Scarfing down free food? I think that is the definition of a ‘book event,’” Miranda said.

Sheryl Youngblut again sidled up to Edgar. “The door to the reading room. It’s locked.”

“I know it is. I just locked it.”

“I know. But the key to the room—it’s missing,” she said.

“I hung it on the hook, just now.”

The young woman’s voice grew strained. “The hook is empty. The key is gone.”

Miranda, instantly on guard, wanted to know how the publicist would know this. “What reason would you have for going to the kitchen to look for that key?”

“I just wanted to make sure it was still there. The manuscript. You wouldn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands! Who knows what it contains. I wanted to check on it, make sure it was safe, but when I went to the kitchen, the key was missing.”

“Did you try the junk drawer?” asked Edgar. “Maybe I threw it in there by mistake.” He was apparently unperturbed by what Ms. Youngblut had just confessed.

“You were going tobreak into a roomin our house?” Miranda asked, aghast.

Edgar, more conciliatory, said, “If you want a look at that manuscript so badly, I’ll take you back in. I must have stuffed the key in the drawer.”

“It wasn’t there, either!” Sheryl said, alarm creeping in. “I checked the drawer. It’s not in any of the drawers. And”—her voice dropped to a conspiratorial level—“I think someone isinside.”

“Inside the reading room? With the door locked?”

“Yes! Hurry—we have to stop them.”

“Stop them? From what?” Miranda wanted to know.

“From reading that manuscript!”

How odd, thought Miranda. Sheryl wasn’t afraid of someone destroying the manuscript, or stealing it, or setting it on fire. No. She was worried they might read it. There was something in the manuscript that the frazzled young publicist didn’t want people to see. Something she feared.

Chapter Nine

The Locked Room

It happened in a panic-stricken blur. Edgar pounding the door. Andrew scrambling about in the kitchen, unable to locate the key, and then running back breathlessly. “It’s gone! The key is gone.”

They could hear someone inside, trashing the reading room. Thumps and crashes and curses.

“Open the door!” Edgar shouted, as he began throwing his shoulder against it.

“It’s just me,” a muffled voice on the other side replied.

“Kane?” said Edgar. “Kane Hamady? What are you doing in there? Please, just open the door.”