Page 54 of Lake House Killer

“I would if I had them.” Owen blows out a breath. “I just had a meeting with a few bar owners in the area, thought I’d stop by.”

I figured as much.

“Here to see Damien?” Jack asks, amused.

“No, actually.” Owen frowns at the mention of the man. “I’m here to see George Graham, author of the Thomas Mann series. I’ve been a long-time reader. Came out last year to see him as well.” His eyes slice to the right, in the exact direction where Damien sits. “I saw him, though. Damien. He has a nice tribute to Lydia. And a little tribute to the Becks as well. That was nice of him. I didn’t stop by. I didn’t want to cause a scene. I’m not exactly his fan anyway. His secretary seemed happy to see me. Which is a first. The woman could be just as snippy as Damien, if not more.”

“Jewel?” I ask, surprised to hear it. “I guess she knows which side her bread is buttered on.”

“Oh, she definitely knows that.” He gives a dark laugh. “So what are you doing here?” He’s back to frowning. “Why aren’t you out there, scouring the land for your friend?” He stuffs his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels.

He’s exerting confidence, and I’m curious as to why.

Is he confident that we won’t find her?

I beg to differ.

In fact, I’d wager to bet we find her tonight.

We’ve got a plethora of suspects all under one roof.

Jack and I are going to make the rounds until one of them cracks, or they all puke. Adrienne was a trendsetter in that regard.

“We’re here to appreciate the fine art of the thriller,” Jack says, shedding a cocky grin that lasts less than a blink. “We’ve been meaning to catch up on some reading as well. We’re starting with the Becks’ work, then Lydia’s, and Damien’s.”

Not true. We scoured their websites, studied their book catalogs as if we were about to become state-certified in the effort, then bought and downloaded just about every novel they’ve written. We’ve been scanning over their books for days.

Lydia is a forerunner as my favorite. I never knew I’d have such an interest in historical suspense, but put a killer in 1920s New Orleans and I’m intrigued. Cynthia’s psychological thrillers were actually a touch more my speed. The twists in her books reminded me that the human mind can be the most dangerous weapon of all.

“Good on you,” Owen says. “I’ll leave the two of you to do your thing. And whenever you find Nikki, I want you to give me a call. I really want to know that she’s safe.” He sheds a little smile before taking off and it’s unsettling.

“What do you think?” Jack asks as he leads us to the right where a whole new row of authors opens up to us, one of them being Damien himself.

“I think he’s cocky. And yet, I think he’s genuine.”

“Genuinely cocky.” Jack nods. “I’m coming to the same conclusion.” We take a few steps into the crowd and pause. “Speaking of which.”

Damien Cole stalks this way with a briefcase in his left hand, his right still wrapped up like a mummy.

His eyes widen a notch and there’s a hint of horror in them. “What’s happened? Did you find her? Is she alive?”

I shake my head. “We haven’t found either of them,” I say, gently reminding him that Nikki is missing as well. “We’re here to make sure you’re safe.”

He grunts at the thought. He’s wearing a tweed jacket, dark shirt, corduroys, and looks relatively put together, but he looks frazzled a touch as well.

“I’m due for a panel in five minutes. My assistant left me high and dry and took off without me. She’s heading it up. I guess they’re short-staffed here today.” He shifts his gaze from Jack to me. “Well, are you coming? You’re here to keep an eye on me, aren’t you?” He doesn’t bother beating around the bush, and he doesn’t bother showing his irritation either. He’s had a hell of a week, so I can hardly blame him.

He leads the charge and we follow him all the way to the auditorium in the back, already brimming with hundreds of bodies in the audience.

The stage is set with Jewel standing to one side while about five authors are already seated at the elongated table next to her.

He lifts his chin as he looks at the panel and his eyes harden.

“I just remembered something.” He turns our way. “You asked if I had taken the car out the other night. I didn’t. But someone else may have.”

He takes off and we stare up at the stage as the lights in the room flicker.

35

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