Bernadette—who had no interest in any of the Chrises—shook her head. “No, I’m not sure. But it’s not about looks, Fran. To a naive fan, someone like Garrett might seem glamorous. He could promise them things—a meeting with his editor, a role in his next film. The rumors were that it was a number one New York Times bestselling author who had a new movie coming out—”
I gasped. “But that could be anyone. That could be Will Price.”
“It wasn’t Will Price,” Bernadette said. “I know you hate him, Jo, but the rumors all said it was an author of young-adult books.”
“A lot of young adults read Will’s books. There were some teenagers on my plane who were Will Price superfans.”
At least, they’d looked and acted like teenagers. I still wasn’t entirely sure how old Lauren and her friends had been.
Frannie was gasping, too, but for a different reason. “There’s going to be a Dark Magic School movie? Oh, my grandson will be thrilled.”
Bernadette ignored us both. “Look, whoever it was, what he did was total sexual harassment. But because none of the women came forward, nothing ever came of it. It was all just rumors.”
“So how do we even know any of it’s true?” I asked.
“That’s the thing. We don’t.”
All three of us stared at Garrett as he pulled another coin (without asking) from the ear of the woman behind the front desk. Granted, she wasn’t young—judging from the deep creases in the tanned skin of her décolletage, she could have been anywhere from fifty to seventy-five.
But she giggled, loving the attention.
“I guess we’ll just have to keep an eye on him, then, won’t we?” Frannie said.
“Oh, we most certainly will,” Bernadette agreed.
And an eye on Will Price, I thought to myself darkly, thinking of Johnny Kane’s despicable actions in The Moment. Johnny was, after all, in love with a girl whose husband he’d killed (however accidentally). What kind of weirdo thought up a story like that?
Then again, what kind of weirdo wrote twenty-six books about a talking teenage cat?
It was right then that a tall, good-looking man in a sheriff’s uniform strode into the hotel lobby. He held a clipboard and wore an expression of resignation.
“Are we all here now for the author bus to the book festival meet-and-greet?” he asked.
“Yes!” Frannie perked up and waved. “Here we are.”
“Okay, then.” The guy in the sheriff’s uniform tucked his clipboard under his arm and made a twirling motion in the air with a finger. “Let’s move it on out.”
Frannie narrowed her eyes as if she thought we were all about to be kidnapped. “Wait. Who are you? Where’s the librarian, Molly, who picked us up from the airport?”
The uniformed officer heaved a sigh. “Molly asked me to drive the bus this evening since she’s already at the event, helping to set it up. I’m Sheriff John Hartwell, her husband.”
The tightness left Frannie’s face. I could tell that she was thrilled at the idea of having an armed law enforcement official drive her around. Frannie felt unsafe anywhere that wasn’t within one hundred miles of Saks Fifth Avenue … and of course Madison Square Garden and her beloved Knicks. “Oh! The sheriff! And Molly’s husband! Well. This is more like it. Let’s go, then.”
As we climbed aboard the author bus—really just a rented mini-shuttle—me using extra care since the heels on my slides were even higher than the ones on my boots, Saul said to his wife, “Frannie, what do you think is going to happen to us? Look at this place, for Christ’s sake. It’s like something out of a movie on the Hallmark Channel.”
He had a point. Maybe I hadn’t noticed it so much on our way from the airport because the sun had been so blindingly bright.
But now, after sunset, I could see that downtown Little Bridge really did look like someplace out of a Christmas romcom, with its quaint, pastel-colored houses and businesses, mostly little candy and ice-cream shops. Old-fashioned streetlamps weren’t the only things twinkling with holiday lights: strands of lights had been wrapped around the trunks of palm trees all along the street, as well, and every so often, we passed a business with a dolphin or Santa-hat-wearing mermaid in the window, made up entirely of twinkling LED displays.
“Well, I don’t know,” Frannie fussed as she dug inside her purse for her lipstick. “Where is everyone? I’ve hardly seen a single soul.”
“If you’d look up for half a minute, you might be surprised.”
Making an impatient face, Frannie looked up and out the window, then gawked. Tourists, still enjoying their holiday break from school or work, crowded the sidewalks. As they strolled, they paused to listen to musicians playing in open-air bars and restaurants, or simply to take in the ocean view and warm, balmy breeze.
“Wow.” Bernadette, beside me on the bus, was staring out the window, as well, watching the same happy family as they devoured what appeared to be slices of frozen Key Lime pie, dipped in chocolate, on a stick. “I’m starting to feel a little guilty for leaving Jen and the kids behind.”
“Seriously. You’re the worst mom,” I teased her.
“I guess I’m going to have to come back here with them someday.”
“Or just Jen,” I said, as we passed a couple walking hand in hand, holding real coconuts with the tops cut off and straws sticking out of the openings. “Leave the kids behind with your mother.”
“Yeah, that sounds better, actually.”
“I come down here quite a lot,” Garrett volunteered. “I scuba, you know. And the fishing is really great, too. You’ve probably seen on the itinerary for tomorrow that Will Price is taking us all out for a picnic lunch on his cat after our panels.”
I stared. “His what?”
“His catamaran.” Garrett looked at me pityingly. “It’s a type of boat.”
I tried to hide my disappointment that it wasn’t a real cat, though obviously I’d been uncertain how we were going to have lunch on one. Still, you never knew. Florida was weird. “Oh.”
“From what I hear, Will’s is a real beauty, a sixty footer, brand-new. Probably set him back a couple million. But don’t worry.” Garrett, apparently mistaking our stunned silence—two million dollars? For a boat?—for fear of deep water, went on, “We won’t head out too far. We’ll probably stick close to the mangroves, so if you’d prefer to do some snorkeling or something, that’d be fine. I could help if you want to learn to scuba. I’m certified for open water.”
“Gee,” I said. “That’s so sweet. I think I’ll stay at the hotel and try to write.” Or finish Will’s terrible book.
“I’m going!” Saul was guileless enough that he didn’t realize Garrett’s invitation hadn’t been extended to him. “I’d love to scuba!”
To his credit, Garrett looked surprised but didn’t withdraw his invitation just because Saul was of the male persuasion.
“That’d be great,” he said. “I’d love to teach you, Saul. You, too, Mrs. Coleman.”
But Frannie was having none of it. “Saul, you are not going scuba diving off some boat tomorrow! Do you even watch the news? Don’t you see all the people who fall overboard and get caught in riptides and drown or get eaten by sharks every year in Florida?”