The girl seemed to be starving for approval, something she probably didn’t get a lot of from her boss – especially if Missy was trying to spread her wings a bit. Zoe, as mother bird, seemed more like the type to knock impertinent chicks out of the nest prematurely than to nurture them.
‘Missy?’ Zoe, as if she’d heard, came over with the lanky, bald man in tow. ‘You and I discussed for weeks that Larry would play the role of our detective, Hercule Poirot, tonight. Yet he says you never even asked him to take part.’
Missy’s eyes went wide. ‘But Zoe, you said that you’d take care of …’ Then, probably not wanting to argue the point publicly, ‘I don’t know what could have happened. Sheriff Pavl— I mean, Jake didn’t receive an email, either.’
‘Email!’ Larry actually snorted. ‘I don’t respond to email.’
Even Zoe, trying as she was to calm the waters, seemed surprised by that. ‘But your “PotShots” is an online book review site. How can you not—’
‘Precisely,’ the man interrupted. ‘Which is why I don’t open my email. Do you really think I want to hear all the belly-aching from authors – whether newbies or established franchises – who seem to think I owe them a good review?’
PotShots rang a bell. ‘Why, you’re Laurence Potter.’
I felt Pavlik’s surprise as Potter turned toward me. ‘I am, indeed. And you are?’
‘Maggy Thorsen,’ I said, holding out my right hand. ‘I enjoy your reviews.’
‘Then you certainly can’t be an author yourself.’ Potter enveloped my fingers and drew their knuckles to his lips, a glint in his eye. ‘How refreshing.’
‘As refreshing as your critiques.’ I took my hand back, willing myself not to reflexively wipe it on my pants. A rumored womanizer and sleazeball, Potter might be a nasty piece of work – as were his reviews – but he was also borderline charming and certainly entertaining. ‘You sure don’t pull any punches.’
A modest shrug, though I had a feeling that nothing Potter did was modest, and that what he did to appear modest was nothing like unrehearsed. ‘Too many critics simply don’t bother to review books that are dreadful. Personally, I don’t subscribe to the old saw, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” In fact, I don’t know why words uttered by some rabbit in a children’s animated feature would be so revered in the first place.’
The words were ‘uttered by’ Thumper in Bambi. And it was ‘say nothing at all,’ not ‘say anything at all.’ Sheesh, if you can’t trust a reviewer to get it right …
‘What about the old saw, “those who can’t do, teach”?’ a voice from behind me contributed. ‘Do you “subscribe” to that one, Larry?’
I turned to see a chic woman with short, choppy black hair. She wore a deceptively simple white blouse over designer jeans – and not the department store kind. I’m talking denims that command upwards of a thousand dollars. And have waiting lists.
‘Laurence,’ Potter snapped, his eyes narrowing.
The new addition to our group smiled icily. ‘Oh, Larry, I’ve known you for years. Why so formal?’
‘I’ve grown tired of correcting the hearing-impaired morons who insist on confusing my name with that of JK Rowling’s detestable four-eyed wizard.’
Ah, Harry Potter.
‘Be glad your name’s not Dumbledore,’ I said under my breath, winning me a warning look from Pavlik, who knew I liked to stir a cauldron myself now and then.
Meanwhile, the smile was etched on the chilly face of the elegant woman. ‘So now you only need to inform them that Laurence is spelled with a “U” and not the more pedestrian “W.”’
‘As is the case with Olivier and Fishburne, so I’m in rather good company,’ Potter said. ‘And speaking of the company we keep, how nice it is to see you again, Rosemary.’
‘And me, you,’ the woman said. They air-kissed, each of them careful not to engage in any actual flesh-to-flesh contact.
It was obvious both of them were lying respectively through their tightly clenched teeth and suddenly I realized why. ‘Rosemary Darlington. I’ve been reading about your new book, Breaking and Entering.’
And I had, on PotShots. The first book from the legendary lady of romantic suspense in years and Laurence Potter had absolutely eviscerated it. Called it smut, even. Apparently the ‘Breaking’ part referred to hearts. And the ‘Entering’ … well, as Potter had written on PotShots, Do I have to spell it out for you?