The audience applauded when Zalinski finished, then formed a line in front of a table where his books were stacked. Mercer preferred not to buy one, and had no desire to read it, but really had no choice. She remembered the frustration of sitting at the table and desperately hoping someone would buy a book, plus she was about to spend the next three hours with the author. She felt obliged and waited patiently as the line moved along. Myra saw her and struck up a conversation. They introduced themselves to Zalinski and watched him scribble his autograph in their copies.

As they walked down the stairs, Myra mumbled, almost too loudly, “Thirty bucks down the drain. I’ll never read a word of it.”

Mercer chuckled and said, “Same here, but we made our bookseller happy.”

At the front counter, Bruce whispered to them, “Noelle is at the house. Why don’t you head on over?”

Mercer, Myra, and Leigh left the store and walked four blocks to the Marchbanks House. “Have you seen it already?” Myra asked.

“No, but I’ve seen the book.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat, and Noelle is the perfect hostess.”

7.

The house was much like Noelle’s store, filled with rustic country furniture and richly decorated. Noelle gave a quick tour of the downstairs, then hustled off to the kitchen to check on something in the oven. Myra, Leigh, and Mercer took their drinks to the rear veranda and found a cooler spot under a wobbly fan. The night was sticky and Noelle had let it be known that dinner would be indoors.

Dinner took an unexpected twist when Bruce arrived, alone. He said that their guest, Mr. Zalinski, suffered from migraines and was having a bout. Randy sent his apologies but needed to go lie down in a dark hotel room. As soon as Bruce fixed his drink and joined them, Myra went after Zalinski. “I’d like a refund of thirty dollars, please,” she said, and it wasn’t clear if she was joking. “I wouldn’t read his book at gunpoint.”

“Careful,” Bruce said. “If my little bookshop did refunds you’d owe me a fortune.”

“So all sales are final?” Mercer asked.

“Damned right they are.”

Myra said, “Well, if you’re going to make us buy the books, please get some decent authors in the store.”

Bruce smiled and looked at Mercer. “We have this conversation at least three times a year. Myra, the queen of trash, disapproves of almost all other commercial writers.”

“Not true,” Myra fired back. “I just don’t dig espionage and all that military crap. I won’t touch the book and don’t want it cluttering up my house. I’ll sell it back to you for twenty bucks.”

“Now, Myra,” Leigh said. “You always say that you love the clutter.”

Noelle joined them on the veranda with a glass of wine. She was concerned about Zalinski and asked if they should call a doctor friend. Bruce said no, Zalinski was a tough guy who could take care of himself. “And I thought he was quite dull,” Bruce added.