Page 95 of Killer on the First Page

“How would the killer have reached her? It would’ve been physically impossible,” said Miranda. “And you know what they say: the impossible is only im-possible as long as it remains un-improbable.”

“No one says that,” said Edgar.

She flung back her scarf. “Wrong again! I just did.”

Ned said, “Okay, if not inside the jail cell, then where? Was she secretly taken out of the cell, murdered, and then moved back? That’s more ridiculous than ghosts.”

“She was murderedbefore she ever set foot in that cell.”

“We spoke to her in there, Miranda. Remember? I don’t know about you, but Wanda struck me as being very much alive when we were chatting with her.”

“She was already dead, Ned, even then. She just didn’t know it. She’d already been poisoned.”

“Forensics went through her medicine bottles.”

“Of course they did, and I can predict that none of the remainingpills were tampered with or had been replaced. I can also predict that the cotton was on top. The killer only had to plant a single pill. Wanda Stobol must have been agitated, would have swallowed a pill before she went in to the station. Ask forensics to check for a spike in adrenaline, or perhaps a deadly dose of concentrated caffeine. OnPastor Fran Investigates, I seem to recall we once killed someone with an overdose of nicotine.”

“I hardly think a TV show—”

“There are many ways to mask a murder as a heart attack. It was a slow-release death, Ned.”

“Not a sealed room?”

Sealed!That was it.

Miranda turned to face Sheryl Youngblut. “You’re the publicist. How did Fairfax DePoy sign his books?”

“He didn’t.”

“Exactly! He melted wax and then pressed it with a ring. Soft wax, gone missing.” She turned back to Ned. “Ask forensics to test for minute traces of beeswax in Wanda Stobol’s stomach. A poisoned pill, coated in a thin layer of wax that gradually melts...”

“It would be like a time bomb ticking inside of her,” said Ned.

The killer knew about the wax Fairfax carried with him, knew about Wanda’s ulcer-churning, pill-gulping tendencies, knew the layout of the bookstore, the placement of the grate in the reading room and the furnace below.

“Edgar, darling, when you asked for help identifying the purpose of that room, you posted the bookstore’s architectural plans, is that correct? Much like one might post notices in a magazine—Help Wanted,Upcoming Auditions,Rooms to Let—and so forth.”

“Online, yes.”

“Where anyone might find them? Is that correct?”

“Yep,” said Edgar. “That’s how it works.”

“Is that true, Andrew?”

When Andrew confirmed that this was indeed how things worked online (Andrew being much younger than Edgar, she deferred to him on such matters), Miranda turned to the impossibly cheerful Geri, of the tracksuit and fanny pack.

Miranda asked about the outdoor wooden platform, the one that had been added to the back of Hiram Henry House. “It runs the length of the second floor, yes? With steps leading down on either end?”

“As a fire exit,” Gerry explained.

“We had to do that, to get the property—”

“—up to code.”

If the killer were staying at Hiram Henry House, this escape route at the back offered a means to slip out of the building unnoticed. It also offered access to the other rooms via the windows.

The pieces were coming together. “Ms. Youngblut, you booked the accommodations for the authors?”