But if the QB already knew Dilley was dead, why hadn’t she said something when she saw his name on the program?
And if she didn’t know he was dead, how did she know Dilley the younger was an imposter, sight unseen?
And, in either case, why had she been so worried about what Ichabod Dilley, real or fake, had to say?
“Something wrong?” Steele asked, interrupting my reverie.
“Long story,” I said, slightly distracted. I’d spotted Nate cutting through the dealers’ room. He looked upset about something—news about the show perhaps?
“Mind if I run out for a minute?” I asked. “I need to ask Nate something.”
“What? And leave me with all these customers?” Steele said. Since the only three customers in the room were browsing in the used book and video booth, I took that for permission.
I caught up with Nate just as he stepped out into the hall.
Chapter 27
“Nate, what’s up?” I asked. “You look like a man with a mission.”
“Just getting some coffee before another panel,” he said.
“Damn; I was hoping you’d had some news about the show.”
“Not yet,” he said. “And frankly, I don’t think we’ll get a decision until the police solve the murder. What if the network announces that the show will go on, and then the police arrest the wrong person?”
“By wrong person, I assume you mean someone connected with the show.”
“Well, yes,” he said. “I mean, I don’t know what we’d do if that happened. And if the police don’t find the killer soon, then I think the network will pass, even if the killer ultimately has nothing to do with the show.”
We’d reached the green room by this time, and found Maggie, Walker, and Michael seated around a table, laughing uproariously. Detective Foley stood nearby holding a cup of coffee and looking puzzled.
“What now?” Nate muttered.
I strolled over to perch near Michael. Nate followed more warily.
“Have a seat, Meg,” Maggie called, waving a spiral-bound booklet toward a chair. “You’ve got to hear this one.”
“This one what?” Nate asked.
“She’s a hoot when she does this,” Michael murmured in my ear.
Maggie sat up very straight, assumed a solemn expression, and began reading out of the booklet.
“‘Your bath is ready, my lord Duke,’ the buxom servicing wench announced.”
“Servicing wench?” Walker interrupted. “Shouldn’t that be serving wench?”
“Shush,” Maggie said. “The Duke of Urushiol dismissed the comely wench who had drawn his bath water and removed his clothes after she was safely out of the room.”
“Wait a minute,” Michael said. “How could she remove his clothes after she’s out of the room?”
“She didn’t,” Walker said. “He did.”
“No, Michael is right,” Maggie said. “Grammatically speaking, she did, from afar. She has strange gifts, this buxom, comely servicing wench.”
“Go on,” Walker said. “Get to the part where the babe shows up.”
“Oh, God,” Nate said. “Please tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing.”
“I’m not doing anything!” Walker said, with mock innocence. “See, my hands are on the table.”
“I can’t stay and listen to this!” Nate warned.
“The duke, hearing a noise behind him, startled,” Maggie intoned.
“Startled who?” Michael asked. “Or should that be whom?”
“Yes, it should be whom,” Maggie said. “And yes, startled is usually a transitive verb. Has anyone got a red pen?”
“Here,” Michael said. “It’s not red, but it makes nice little blots all over everything you write on.”
“Serves you right for bringing a cheap pen to your autograph line,” Walker said, shaking his head.
“I had a nice pen before someone stole it,” Michael countered.
“I’m leaving,” Nate said. “You know I can’t listen to this.”
Maggie made corrections on the page, and then resumed.
“Expecting to see the beautiful Sebacea—”
“Ooh, the comely mermaid queen!” Walker crowed.
“Doesn’t do a thing for me; I’m a leg man,” Michael said.
“The embarrassed duke looked around for something to salvage his modesty.”
“Finding nothing large enough—” Walker said, with a swagger.
“Imagine his surprise,” Maggie continued, “when he saw the sinister magician Mephisto standing in the doorway, eyeing him with a strange look of intenseness in his aquiline eyes.”