THE SUBJECT OF MALICE by Cynthia Kuhn

Author:Cynthia Kuhn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Henery Press;cozy mysteries;academic mysteries
Publisher: Henery Press
Published: 2019-05-01T19:22:11+00:00

Chapter 11

The panel was set up like every other one at the conference: two long tables on a riser at the front of the room. A cardboard nameplate identified each scholar’s place, and there were glasses and a pitcher of water waiting for us to share. Rows of folding chairs filled the rest of the room. Although I’d arrived a few minutes early, not a single empty seat remained, and there were individuals standing along the back wall.

My stomach flipped and I turned to go back out into the hallway, only to come face to face with the Raleighs. Simone paused to speak with me, but Selene swept by. Beckett gave me a rueful smile—a silent acknowledgment of his fiancée’s icy blast—and followed in her wake as if towed by a rope.

“Are we ready, Lila?” Simone’s crossed arms hugged a black three-ring binder to her chest. A matching binder had been delivered to my hotel room while I was at the after-party, with instructions to bring my current manuscript to the panel today.

They were really making up this thing as they went along.

Not great for the nerves, honestly.

I’d been too tired last night to do anything about it, so I’d had to pop into the “business office” of the hotel—which had two ancient desktop computers, two newer printers, a pair of scissors, a stapler and a three-hole punch—after breakfast. I’d punched holes into my pages as fast as I could and shoved them into the binder. I’d managed to swing it, but these requirements were definitely ratcheting up the pressure.

Simone’s eyes roved over the audience. “I love reading in public. There’s just something about the crowd hanging on your every word.”

Hanging on your every word? That had not been my experience. Mostly, I tried to will them to remain in their seats at least until I’d finished.

“You did a fine job the other day,” she said. “At your panel.”

I waited for the forthcoming burn, the drop of acid that sizzled as it landed.

She smiled at me.

“Thank you,” I murmured, but I was confused. I knew how to handle the agenda-propelled insult-wrapped-inside-a-compliment Simone. This new version was throwing me for a loop.

Then again, maybe that was her plan all along.

She gave a shimmy of excitement. “Ooh. They’re waving at us. It’s almost showtime.”

Simone strutted up to the table, nimbly ascended the riser, and took a seat next to Beckett, who was farthest away from us. As I followed, I tripped over a cord on the floor and headed for a face plant. With a crouching quick step, I somehow managed to stop myself halfway and wrench my body upwards.

Which was all well and good, except that I appeared to be bowing to my panel mates.

In front of everyone.

Perfect.

I climbed the steps and fell into my seat next to Selene, who was repositioning the microphone between us, and tried to regain some dignity by acting like nothing had happened. When I leaned forward to retrieve the binder from my bag, I hit my forehead on the mic, which squealed loudly.

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