the patron:

THE PATRON

Ashley Sands and her younger sister, Kiki Jameson, neared the book signing venue at the local bookstore. The night was warm and humid, but comfortably so. Dusk was fading into the lovely nearly iridescent blue shade that overtakes the heavens just before darkness descends.

They parked the car toward the rear of the parking lot and made their way toward the bookstore. As they walked onto the sidewalk running along the wall, they paused because an extremely handsome young man and a serious looking, and very pretty, young woman stood chatting. Or at least the young man was. They blocked the sidewalk, making it necessary for Ash and Kiki to pass them by striding back down to the street.

Ash recognized each of the twosome, having individually spoken to them at the front desk of the Skullduggery Inn. Clive Montmore was the type of young man who not only had the looks, but also the charismatic personality to highlight his masculine beauty. Helen Oglethorp was Lady Denis D’ever’s personal assistant. Hers was a gentle and sweet loveliness—quite opposite Clive’s overabundant charm. 

Ash hadn’t realized the two young people knew each other, but on second thought, of course they did. There was no approaching Lady D except through the auspices of her PA. And Ash suspected Clive approached those auspices frequently given the fact it was evident he and Lady D were involved in a less than clandestine affair.

Now, however, it appeared he was trying to avail himself of the auspices without the resulting meeting with Lady D, given the fact he was leaning into Helen where she stood stoically beside the building. He murmured quietly while Helen shook her head in the negative.

“Lady D has my passport. Papa says she’ll come around. Until then, please stay away.” Helen suddenly silenced when she appeared to realize that Ash and Kiki could likely overhear the conversation. And Ash certainly had.

Ash stepped over the curb and back onto sidewalk, just paces before reaching the entrance to the coffee shop attached to the bookstore where Lady Denis D’ever was signing books that evening. Ash hadn’t met the author before that afternoon when Lady D checked into the Skullduggery Inn for the Mystery Weekend that she was hosting, and Ash hadn’t known quite how much of a character the woman was or how likely she was to be troublesome. But now she expected the worst. For such a dignified woman, there was no misinterpreting her feelings about any given subject. No misinterpreting at all, Ash thought, as she turned her gaze back behind her at the two young people.

Ash mentally shrugged, electing not to fear what might happen should Lady D discover Clive’s flirtation with Helen.

Kiki remained behind to speak to the barista in the coffee shop as Ash beelined into the bookstore proper.

Despite Ash’s worries, Lady D was quite entertaining. There was no telling what she’d say or imply. Case in point, as Ash approached the group surrounding the author where she was seated at a table near the front of the store, with stacks of her books piled around her and on every available surface, including in towers on the floor, Lady D was saying, “No. I’ve never had any work done. I truly believe my constitution and lack of wrinkles is based upon the plant-based diet I imbibe.”

The people surrounding her all gave evidence of not believing a word the author spoke. They looked at her face, some going so far as to squint, and several shook their heads in disbelief. Her tight face seemed corset-like. 

Lady D’s companion, Camille Brompton, read the room. She cleared her throat and hesitatingly asked, “Not even Botox?”

“My dear Camille,” Lady D articulated, evidently as a warning to the woman not to contradict her, even as her facial expressions appeared to be set in concrete since they were unchanging. Even her lips never quite closed, instead resting in a slight “O.”

Her secretary, Helen, having joined the group just as Ash arrived, stared at Lady D with her own open mouth, indicating she’d overheard the same statements as Ashley. Helen started to say something, but stopped herself thanks to the evil look emanating from the author’s eyes.

“Muggums, will you please tell my readers that I naturally have a smooth complexion.” She widened her eyes at the butler and nodded encouragingly.

Muggums, naturally, in gentleman’s or rather gentlewoman’s gentlemanly fashion, took her comment in butlerly stride. “Certainly, my lady.” He gathered up several boxes and began flattening them as he turned to the women standing before her. “Lady D’s complexion is natural. Smooth as a baby’s lower portion.”

Camille closed her mouth, as did Helen, apparently aware there was nothing else to say. Neither would accuse Lady D of not telling the truth.

While the others discussed Lady D’s apparent youth, Muggums made neat little stacks of small cardboard pieces as he ripped up the boxes. He had the practiced expression of a man who had done this often and without pausing to think of it. 

“Will that be all, Lady D?” Muggums asked when he finished, with a twinkle in his gaze. Like Ashley, it appeared he found the author a source of entertainment, too.

“For now, but please remain nearby in case I need something.” Lady D waved him away.

Within minutes, customers lined up to have their books signed. A long queue of readers meandered through the small bookstore. As Lady D signed books, Helen discreetly approached the Mystery Weekend attendees and handed out the information about their forthcoming roles. Some people looked very pleased, and others’ expressions were sour. But everyone was animated and lively.

Only two people, and possibly a third, played themselves for the Mystery: Lady D the Patron, Camille the Companion, and possibly Clive, the Suitor. Tristan Black, now playing Colonel Dijon, seemed quite pleased with himself with the way he strutted from person to person in the group. His jovial laughter could be heard over all of the usual book signing hubbub. 

* * *

A mere hour later, Lady D looked up from the stack of books remaining on the book signing table. She’d finished signing all of the fan’s hardcover books, and had started on the stack of books belonging to the bookstore.

Directing a glance at Ash, she said, “I’m so sorry but I need to visit the loo. I didn’t want to say anything before now, but I also partook of the airline shrimp cocktail and – well –”

“This way,” Ash replied, indicating with her right hand the restrooms located within the adjoining coffee shop. “At the back.”

Lady D nodded and toddled off, stating, “Excuse me,” to the readers and fans she passed along the way. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she departed into the rear of the shop.

About fifteen minutes later, when she still hadn’t emerged, the bookstore manager approached Ashley. “Do you think she’s okay?”

“As far as I know, but there was that shrimp—” Ashley joined the manager as she entered the coffeeshop and briskly walked to the darkened rear of the store where the restrooms were located.

The manager tried the restroom door, but it was locked. She tapped on the door. There was no response.

Ashley stepped forward and tapped harder. “Lady D?” she called out. Again, no answer. Her gaze met the manager’s. “Do you have a key? I’m worried that she’s ill. The shrimp.”

“I’ll go get it.” She left and returned short minutes later. Tapping on the restroom door again, once more she called out, “Ma’am?”

At the lack of response, she shoved the key into the lock and turned it. “Here we go.”

Surprisingly, Ash noticed that the overhead light had been dimmed. That was odd. Had the door gotten locked behind Lady D? But if so, how had she left?

The manager switched on the light.

On the other side of a half wall, Ash made out a leg and red shoe on the ground. She ran forward. “Lady D? Are you okay?”

As she rounded the half wall, she saw the worst thing imaginable. Lady D lay on the ground. Her face was contorted and there were no obvious signs of life.

The manager crossed from behind Ash and touched Lady D’s face. “Oh, no.”

Ashley grabbed the prostrate woman’s wrist and searched for a pulse with no luck. “We need to call 9-1-1. I don’t think she’s breathing.”

Order Now!