Overdue for Murder (Pecan Bayou) (6 page)

"Aw, Mom. We're never going to break a record." He balled his hands into fists.

"As long as it doesn't cause injury to you, like permanently stretching out your lips, I'd say keep trying," I told him. "I know – you could be the kid with the cleanest room for the longest period of time!"

Zach rolled his eyes at me and threw himself down on the small green couch that leaned against the wall. "Don't turn this into another chore thing!" He didn't appreciate my humor. Danny followed suit and threw himself on the remaining cushions.

"Keep thinking, guys. You'll come up with something."

My phone rang at my elbow. "Miss Livingston? This is Martha Hoffman at the library. I got your number from Pattie. I just wanted to let you know, we have quite a few speakers tonight, and because you are such a late entry, we'll have to put you at the end of the program. Now, we want the program to end at 10 p.m., so there is a possibility we might run out of time before we get to you. We felt it was important to put the, um, more established writers first. You do understand, don't you?"

I sure did. "I understand completely."

Pattie had them over a barrel by making her appearance based on mine. It probably didn't help my status that I argued with her beloved Vanessa over the weekend. My book probably did people a lot more good on a daily basis than all of the others combined, leaving out Pattie's cookbook, of course.

"Well, good then. I guess we'll be seeing you this evening in the main lecture room of the library. We expect quite a turnout. You do know where we're located?"

"Yes, I do," I answered. In a little town like this, how could this woman and I not have come in contact before? Did she think I had never been to the library? I would be sure to wear my overalls and black out one of my teeth just so I could meet her expectations of me.

*****

After leaving Zach with my father for the evening, I drove to the library just as the sun was setting over the downtown area. Shopkeepers were turning the closed signs in their windows, while restaurants like Benny's Barbecue were entertaining friends, old and new. Maybe I should have told Martha Hoffman I was too busy to make this thing and spare myself the ridicule, but after we had just destroyed Pattie's cupcake tower, I was a little duty-bound myself. Pattie had stuck up for me, and now I could at least do her the courtesy of being there.

Our town library was really quite nice, considering the size of Pecan Bayou. We had two floors, the upper floor containing nonfiction and biographies and the bottom floor fiction and a lovely children's section with sliding accordion doors to shut out the noise of any of the children's programs. I noticed some new bookshelves as I walked by. It was about time they redecorated the children's part of the library. Zach loved going to pick out books here, although I couldn't ever remember checking out books with Martha Hoffman. It was hard to imagine her doing "Story Hour" with the kids.

I walked to the back of the fiction section where the meeting room was situated. Normally there was a large table in the middle of this room, but for the crowd expected, they had moved it out and replaced it with folding chairs. The room had the comfortable smell of old books. All of the walls were lined with the antique book archive in sedate colors of maroon, black and forest green. The gilt lettering was simple yet elegant. It would be a pleasant place to sit and read away the hours with the soft but efficient lighting and muffled quiet of the room. I took in a deep breath, feeling at peace, then I looked up front and noticed all the chairs at the presenters' table seemed to be filled except one. I also noticed Vanessa Markham was not up there yet. If I didn't hurry, that would mean there wouldn't be a chair up there for me. My moment of peace shattered.

The audience chairs were stacked six across with a little aisle down the middle. As I walked down the aisle, Ruby Green reached out and took my hand. "Hi Betsy. We have room in our row if you're lookin' for a seat." Ruby had probably come straight from The Best Little Hair House in Texas. Her auburn hair was teased up an inch and a half around her head, and tonight she wore her red-framed glasses and a black zebra silk scarf.

"Thank you. That's so nice of you, but I'm supposed to be up front." Right as I said that, Vanessa came running up the aisle past me and headed for the speaker's table.

"Oh, are you an author?" Ruby asked me.Vanessa laughed as she ran by us. "Don't let her kid you, Ruby. She doesn't write real fiction. Unless she's telling stories about magically collapsing tables full of cupcakes."

She clicked up the aisle effortlessly, like a butterfly gliding to a flower. I trudged behind her, speaking to her back. "I wasn't making anything up, Vanessa. We all knew who messed with that table." My voice level rose as I followed on her heels to the front, directing the crowd's attention toward us.

Martha Hoffman shushed me violently, probably using half of her mouth's capacity for spit. She had been sorting through a stack of handouts for the audience. Vanessa quickly slid into the one vacant chair, leaving me standing there. She smoothed her skirt, sat with perfect posture and tossed back her lustrous hair. I stood there awkwardly. "Miss Hoffman, where did you want me to sit?" I asked.

The librarian looked up from her handouts, smile glued to her face. Her voice was as sweet as what comes in the pink packets with your coffee. "Oh, dear. I forgot about you, Becky." She glanced at the long table filled by the other authors. "I suppose we could add you over there on the end."

I looked to the end of the table, where Pattie was sitting next to a dark man in black turtleneck. Not a very comfortable shirt for South Texas, but somehow on this guy it worked. He seemed so familiar to me. Where had I seen him before? Pattie raised her elbow and waved trying not to jab the dark man in the ribs.

Martha took a chair off the front row of the audience and wedged it into the corner by Pattie.

"Really, Miss Hoffman. I don't mind sitting out in the audience."

"Don't be ridiculous, dear. You're an ... a presenter, just like the rest of my guests tonight."She flung her arm toward the chair, which was supposed to be a gesture of kindness but felt more like an order to sit down –
now
. I squeezed in next to Pattie, pulling my own elbows in and holding my purse on my lap.

"She forgot," Pattie whispered, not sounding as if she totally believed it. "What a surprise," I whispered back.

A brown hand extended to me across Pattie's front.

"Good evening." The dark man's Hispanic accent was rich and flowing. He leaned forward to meet my eyes. "I am Damien Perez, the author of the
Camazotz Chronicles
."

I had no idea what a Camazotz was and why it needed to be chronicled. It must have shown in my face, because he continued.

"Mexican vampire fiction, my dear." His voice was also familiar. Down the table, Vanessa Markham's glance turned toward the two of us. This was the man she had been embracing in the mall. It had to kill her that he was sitting so close to me and Pattie.

"Oh," I said placing my hand in his. "Betsy Livingston, Helpful Hints."

"Nice to meet you, Betsy Livingston." He dripped charm, reminding me of Bela Lugosi inviting the stranded travelers in for a bite. Pattie cleared her throat, and we quickly dropped hands.

Martha Hoffman stood in front of the table and addressed the curious – or maybe somewhat bored – citizens of Pecan Bayou. My Aunt Maggie had come in and was now sitting in the seat Ruby Green had offered to me. When I caught her eye, she waved excitedly as if I had just hit the big time in authordom. I waved back slowly, so as not to further draw the attention of the entire crowd now staring directly at us.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen." Martha Hoffman put her hands together under her chin to show her sheer delight at the attendance of author night. Her cheeks pudged out at each side, making her look like a happy chipmunk. "Tonight, at our first annual author's night, we will be hearing from all kinds of writers."

Martha turned to face the other end of the table, where a scrawny-looking man with bug eyes held tightly to a stack of papers.

"We have Mr. Oscar Larry, our resident UFO aficionado, who has penned the book
I Saw It With My Own Eyes
, in which he recounts his experience with an extraterrestrial." The audience clapped in respect.

"We also have Destiny Wood, also known as Edith Martin from Andersonville. She writes some pretty steamy romance novels. Dashing men and beautiful women living adventurous lives are all over her pages." Edith Martin pulled at her closely cropped gray hair. She was thin, bony and in her fifties, and she reminded me of my fourth-grade teacher. She raised her shoulders in a giggle as Martha described her. This is why we see so few author pictures on the backs of romance novels. Just goes to show you don't have to look like a movie star to write romance.

"Next to Destiny Wood we have our own Vanessa Markham. She is our best girlfriend in predicting the latest styles and fads, and if that weren't enough, Vanessa also writes under the pen name of Vanessa Scarlett. Vanessa has written what I think will be the breakout 'chick-lit' novel of the year,
Girl Meets Fifth Avenue
. I couldn't put it down, Vanessa. It was simply the best book I have read in a long time!" They exchanged glances as if they had a secret no one else knew. As much as Martha seemed to slough me off as a bug on her windshield, she seemed to idolize Vanessa.

"If you are a fan of vampire fiction," Martha said, " then we have Mr. Damien Perez, author of the
Camazotz Chronicles
, a gripping set of books about Mexican vampires." Ruby Green sat up in her folding chair and flashed what I would have to call an attempt at a seductive smile at Damien Perez, the man in the black turtleneck.

"Next to Señor Perez, ladies and gentlemen, we have our very favorite diet buster Pattie Jackson, the owner of PattieCake's Bakery. She will be discussing her cookbook and how she makes all of those delicious baked goods. She also brought us some samples of her exquisite work for you to enjoy tonight." The crowd oohed and clapped.

Martha's gaze shifted to me. "If all of that wasn't enough, we also have blog writer Becky Livingston to talk to us about helpful hints in the home." She turned back to the gathered group. "Let's have a big hand for all of our authors!"

The crowd clapped as Pattie whispered into my ear, "Doesn't that old cow know your name, yet, Betsy?"

"Guess not," I whispered back, smiling at my aunt, who was trying to get the crowd into a standing ovation. Nothing like having relatives in the audience.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Oscar Larry, who sat at the other end of the table, was the first presenter of the evening. I knew we were in trouble when he started setting up a laptop and projector to show some of his research. He also passed out little coasters with the name of his store in San Antonio, "Sky Lights – the ultimate resource for your extraterrestrial needs."

"Even though we think of UFOs as something from second-rate creature features on the midnight movies, they are real, mysterious objects that have been observed in our skies since the earliest days of our recorded history," he intoned. "Tonight I am so pleased to get to share with you all of my scientific observations and extensive resources on the subject."

Did that mean what I thought it meant? Did Martha tell any of the other authors there would be a time limit on their presentations? I guess she never actually gave me a limit, just a suggestion there would be no time for me. This could be a long night. I grabbed my cell phone out of my purse and started texting my dad. If I was going to run late, I needed to let him know. Judging by the median age of our audience, running late may not work too well with them, either. We definitely had some eight o'clock bedtime folks here.

My phone lit up with an incoming text. I had turned off the sound so no one listening to Oscar Larry's droning on would realize I was involved in a conversation elsewhere. I expected it to be a text from my father griping at me for extending his babysitting time, but instead it was from Leo Fitzpatrick in Dallas:

Betsy. Tried to call you, but you weren't home. Have you come to a decision?

Oh boy. I did have some thoughts on the matter, but I didn't know if you could get in trouble with the phone company for texting four-letter words. This was it. I could ask him about the woman who answered the phone, but if I did, what would he think of me? It wasn't like we were living in the same town or anything, and it wasn't like we were serious enough to warrant not seeing other people. But still, I felt cheated on somehow.

I had not been involved with a man in quite a while, and I needed to feel safe in my first jump into the dating pool. I had already lived with a guy who had betrayed my trust, and even though I felt I was past all that, I still had these little nagging doubts in the back of my head that I really wasn't good enough. Look at tonight – I was the add-on author. I wasn't the beloved fashion blogger. I was that woman who could tell you how to unclog your sink – that is, once she got her own sink unclogged. Not so glamorous. No wonder Fitzpatrick was seeing another woman in Dallas.

The words on the cell phone seemed to be shouting at me, "Have you come to your decision? Have you? Have you?" Oscar Larry was turning out the lights to show exciting footage of his own personal UFO sighting. How thrilling, except now the room would notice my phone was lit up on my lap. I quickly punched "end" and stuffed the phone back in my purse.