Holmes & Moriarty 02 - All She Wrote (MM) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Victoria. “Don’t you?”

    Victoria smiled noncommittally and dipped her spoon in her soup.

    I finished my wine, defiant of the inevitable headache. I was still brooding as the soup dishes were whisked away and replaced with plates laden with juicy prime rib, buttery whipped potatoes and tender asparagus drizzled with creamy tarragon sauce. I began to perk up.

    Besides, some people think fullness in the face makes you look younger.

    “Who’s your agent, Christopher?” one of the male students asked.

    It was going to be one of those weekends, I could tell already. “Rachel Ving.”

    Ving the Merciless they called her in publishing circles, though so far she hadn’t killed anyone. That I knew of.

    “How did you happen to land her?”

    “I let my fingers do the walking.”

    “Eh?”

    What was his name? Something unusual. Rowland…Bride. That was it. Rowland Bride looked like he was in his late forties. He was a short, roly-poly man with bright dark eyes and tight dark curls. He looked hot. Not like J.X. looked hot. Hot as in permanently perspiring.

    Hot and perplexed. Maybe he was thinking of the Neil Young song.

    “Just kidding,” I said. “I sent the manuscript to several agents who indicated they were willing to look at a new author and were interested in handling mysteries.”

    Rowland looked unconvinced. Perhaps he thought Anna had written a letter of recommendation or something, but that wasn’t the case. She would have, of course, but her own agent hadn’t been taking new clients when I went looking. I had found Rachel all on my own.

    Poor Rachel.

    “How long have you known Anna?” I asked generally of the table.

    “Nearly nine years,” Rowland said.

    “Have you been part of the AC for nine years?”

    “No. I was only invited to join the circle last year.” He pursed his mouth. I couldn’t tell if the expression indicated discretion or annoyance that it had taken so long for Anna to include him in the festivities. As I recalled, invites to the AC were exclusive and much sought after by aspiring scribblers.

    “Two years.” Poppy Seed sounded curt. She was hacking away at her prime rib as though she had a score to settle.

    “Two years,” Victoria concurred. She was the only person at the table still on her soup.
    She had a half bowl to go and was serenely dipping her spoon as though she’d never heard of such a thing as a main course.

    “Were you members of the writing group last year?”

    “No.”

    “No.” Poppy’s portion of the table jiggled as she sawed.

    At the far end, Sara and Rudolph were ignoring my efforts at sociability. They spoke quietly together, much like weary teachers supervising a sock hop. Do they still have sock hops?
    Do they still have socks?

    I’d have liked to sit at the adult table too, but I’d been placed smack-dab in the center of the playing field to be more accessible to the students. It’s true what they say about no good deed going unpunished. Granted, I was conveniently located for sleuthing, but it irked me nonetheless.

    I called down, “I know how far back you and Anna go, Rudolph, but what about you, Sara?”

    She fastened her cool gaze on me. “I’ve worked for Anna for five years.” She turned back to Rudolph.

    And clearly had a ball every minute. Jesus. Maybe Anna found her a jewel beyond price, but I thought she was a whey-faced bitch. As Miss Butterwith would have said.

    Well, okay, Miss Butterwith wouldn’t have said that, but it was my opinion and I was sticking to it.

    “I met Anna this year.” That chirpy voice belonged to the youngest member of the enclave. I’d managed to remember Nella House’s name because of a not-very-kind name association. She was a big girl. A very, very big girl. One of those very big girls who you fear won’t live to see forty if they don’t take action now. She was perhaps in her early twenties, bright blue eyes, glossy brown hair and rosy cheeks.

    “How did you meet