“We’ve got to be careful with him,” Eric said. “We don’t know what sort of injury he might’ve sustained.”

  Carlos finished putting the stretcher together and the four of them—Eric, Carlos, Rachel, and Tommy—carefully lifted Lewis onto its surface, strapped him on, and adjusted the head bed. Then they each grabbed a corner of the stretcher, lifted it, and slowly carried it over to the cargo section of Tommy’s SUV.

  Tommy quickly lowered the two back seats to make room, then Rachel climbed into the back to keep Lewis stable while Carlos took the driver’s seat.

  “Don’t let him out of your sight,” Eric warned them.

  “Yes, sir.” Carlos started the engine and took off for the highway with sirens blaring.

  Eric escorted a teary-eyed Sheri back to his SUV and opened the back door for her. She sighed and climbed inside again.

  “Do you think Lewis is faking it?” I asked Mac in a low voice.

  “Tommy did say he hit his head, but you never know. The guy’s proven to be a pretty decent liar.”

  Eric called Mindy over and pointed to Annabelle, Hugh, and Kingsley, the three writers who were still watching the action as if it were a world heavyweight boxing championship.

  “Take those three to headquarters and put them in room 3A. Have someone keep an eye on them. I’ll be in to question them later.”

  “You got it, Chief.”

  Mindy led the three over to her black-and-white and put them in the back seat. Then she jumped in the car and headed out to the highway.

  Eric said something to Tommy, then he approached Mac and Chloe and me. “I’m going to try something here. I think if you ask him some questions, you might be able to get some answers. Let’s see what happens.”

  “No problem,” Mac said.

  Eric walked over to Brian. “Anything you want to say to these people before I take you into custody?”

  “Am I being arrested?” Brian asked, looking shocked.

  “Not yet, but we’re taking you in for questioning.”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said?” Brian yelled. “Lewis is the one you should arrest.”

  “And I said I’m not arresting you. Yet.”

  If Eric was offering to give Brian an opportunity to talk, I wanted to help. “Why did you throw his phone away?” I asked loudly.

  Eric’s eyes narrowed in on me, and he nodded. Okay, that was a good sign that I was doing all right.

  Brian stared at me but said nothing.

  I asked, “Was he recording your conversations?”

  Brian wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Who are you?”

  “Watch it, Brian,” Mac warned, his voice low and menacing. “You know who she is.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Remember me? I’m the person whose partition wall you sabotaged.” I had known it was him from his reaction earlier. Or more precisely, from Lewis’s reaction, which was a look of complete astonishment. Brian had been more cagey, his gaze unable to meet mine.

  “That wasn’t me,” Brian insisted.

  Mac joined in the Q&A. “Hey, Brian. What did you mean when you said that Lewis stole your life?”

  Brian blinked several times, suddenly unsure of himself. After all, this was the great MacKintyre Sullivan questioning him. He looked away.

  “Brian,” Mac repeated. “What did you mean?”

  His nostrils flared. He was angry at being confronted and having a hard time hiding it. Finally he said, “Lewis stole my book.”

  Mac cocked his head. “Which book is that?”

  “The big one,” he muttered.

  “The bestseller?” Mac asked. “You wrote that?”

  Brian chewed on his bottom lip and looked away.

  Didn’t he realize we could tell he was lying?

  “Answer me, Brian,” Mac persisted. “Did you write that book?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  I glanced up at Mac. “You know he’s lying.”

  “Oh, yeah.” But Mac forged ahead. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

  “Because . . . it’s nobody’s business.”

  “So you were okay with him taking all the accolades for a book that you wrote? What about the money? The royalties?”

  Brian sighed so heavily, it was as if he could no longer fight off our questions. “I arranged a payment plan.”

  “Ah. So did he pay you?”

  Brian scowled. “Not enough.”

  “So he didn’t actually steal the book,” Mac reasoned. “You sold it to him.”

  “Yeah, but then it hit the bestseller list, and I wanted more money. He agreed to give me more, but I haven’t seen it yet.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Mac said. “But I still don’t understand why you didn’t put your own name on the book.”

  “He wanted the book,” Brian said, as if that made perfect sense. And maybe it did, given the odd nature of their relationship.

  “Now what about Lewis’s second book,” Mac said. “The one he just turned in?”

  I glanced at Eric, but he still didn’t look inclined to stop the conversation.

  “Oh, that one,” Brian said. “It’s um . . .”

  “Did you write that book, too?”

  His eyes darted back and forth. He was more nervous about the second book.

  “Who wrote that book?” Mac asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “So it wasn’t you?”

  His skinny shoulders were visibly shaking. “Uh. Hmm. No.”

  “It’s Travis’s book, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Mac persisted. “Did Lewis steal Travis’s tablet?”

  His eyes widened. “Yes.”

  “No!” Sheri shouted. “Brian stole it.”

  She was sitting on the running board now.

  Eric turned to her. “You just can’t stay put, can you?”

  “I’m helping,” she said.

  Eric just shook his head at the whole bizarre scene. “Sheri, do you know for a fact that Brian stole Travis’s tablet?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know?” Mac asked.

  She lifted one shoulder in a careless move. “Because I heard them arguing about it.”

  “There’s no way you could hear us!” Brian cried. “We were all the way at the end of the breakwater.”

  Mac bit back a smile. The man had effectively confessed. “So Brian. You and Lewis did argue about stealing Travis’s tablet.”

  Brian realized that he’d trapped himself. I almost laughed at his confused expression, but there was nothing funny about this deranged man who admitted to being a thief and who could quite possibly be a deadly killer as well.

  His bottom lip quivered in a pout. “Maybe.”

  “Why were you arguing?”

  He didn’t want to answer, and it was obvious that he was trying really hard to come up with the perfect lie. The problem was, he just wasn’t very good at this. He needed Lewis by his side. The two of them had been a devious and strangely capable duo, but alone, they couldn’t seem to function very well. They each needed their wingman.

  I glanced around and had to wonder what rabbit hole we’d all tumbled into: there was Brian in the center; Sheri on the running board, dangling her legs back and forth as if she didn’t have a care in the world; Chloe and me together, both of us spellbound by Mac’s cross-examination of this spoiled, immature man; and Eric and Tommy, who were strangely willing to let Mac take the lead, but alert and ready to pounce if Brian made one wrong move.

  Finally, there was the spirit of Lewis hanging over it all, currently unable to tell his own story.

  “Lewis wanted to steal everything Travis had on the tablet,” Brian finally admitted. “I thought he was being piggish. I told him I’d only taken it for the one story about the raging river. I agreed that Lewis could send that one to his agent. I told him he should be grateful.” He bared his teeth. “But he was never grateful.”

  “So let’s go back to Lewis’s first book,” Mac said, taking a quick look at Eric, who still appeared to be perfectly happy to have Mac asking the questions. He and Brian were both writers, and they were talking about books and stories, which was Mac’s field of expertise. And Brian was obviously cowed by Mac’s presence, so that was helping to get some answers out of him.

  “Okay,” Brian said hesitantly.

  “If you didn’t write it and Lewis didn’t write it, where did it come from?”

  “I can help you here,” Sheri said.

  Mac extended his hand. “Please do.”

  She fluffed her hair back. She was now onstage, after all. “An obscure self-published author named Simon Marcello wrote the book under a different title. He has since died.”

  “Do you know how he died?”

  “Oh, he was murdered,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Blunt-force trauma.”

  “How do you know all this?” Mac asked.

  “I’m a research librarian,” Sheri said, smiling smugly. “I know a lot of things. And if there’s anything I don’t know, I look it up. For instance, if you google a particular line from Lewis’s first book, you’ll find out that it’s actually a line from Simon Marcello’s book.”

  “Wow,” I whispered. Was it really that simple?

  “And how do you know that Marcello was murdered?”

  She glanced impatiently at Mac. “I looked it up. His murder is still unsolved. Maybe Brian can explain it.”

  “Shut up, Sheri,” Brian grumbled.

  Sheri held up one finger. “I do have a theory, though.”

  “What’s your theory?” Mac asked, recognizing that Sheri was on a roll.

  “I believe that Mr. Marcello was unaware that his book had been stolen. But then Lewis’s book hit all the bestseller lists, and Brian was afraid that all of that publicity would ultimately attract the attention of Mr. Marcello, and he would put up a fuss. He’d probably try to sue Lewis, which would land Brian in hot water. So Brian killed him.”

  “Shut up!” Brian howled.

  Sheri batted her eyelashes at Brian. “Did I strike a nerve?”

  She definitely had. We all watched Brian’s false bravado fizzling. His fists were bunched up, and his face was turning red.

  “Why do you think it was Brian who killed him and not Lewis?” I asked.

  Sheri studied her fingernails. “It’s simple. Brian is a psychopath. Lewis is simply a self-centered narcissistic opportunist.”

  “Don’t talk about Lewis!” Brian shouted.

  I saw Eric take a few steps closer to Brian, whose neck muscles were straining with every word Sheri spoke.

  Before he popped his cork, I hurried to ask a question. “Sheri, if you’re aware that Lewis is a complete fraud who ripped his books off from other writers, why do you all still like him?”

  Another shoulder shrug. “I don’t hold it against him. I mean, I guess it’s a little skeevy. But this book writing business is hard. People do what they have to do to get ahead. Besides, Lewis is cute. He’s got great hair. And he’s got money. So in case I haven’t mentioned it before, I’m more than happy to ride his coattails.”

  Mac had told us that she’d mentioned it before, so I believed her. However, I wasn’t about to bring up the fact that his money was quickly dwindling away.

  “Lewis can get me into all the best publisher parties,” Sheri continued. “He can invite me to book signings at all the top stores. And do you know how hard it is to get on a panel at the National Book Association convention? Lewis got that for me. They gave out two hundred of my books. You can’t buy that kind of publicity.”

  Was anyone in this group a normal person? I was afraid not. I took a quick look at Mac and watched him shaking his head. He was over it.

  Eric took a few casual steps closer to Brian. “Tell me about Linda Rutledge.”

  Brian was startled by the question. “Well, I saw her first. And she liked me.”

  “But Lewis was the one who was always coming around with her.”

  “He doesn’t play fair.” Brian sounded more like a fourth grader on the playground than a grown man.

  “You know, I was at the writers’ workshop that night,” Eric said. “And I recall that you did see Linda first.”

  “I know!”

  “But then Lewis made his move, and you were out of the running.”

  Brian glanced around, unable to meet Eric’s gaze. Was he embarrassed? “It’s okay. I still like her. She’s really pretty and she was nice to me. Lewis thinks he’s got all the right moves, but Linda wasn’t going to fall in love with him or anything. Lewis didn’t like that she was nice to everyone. He didn’t like that she was so friendly with Travis.” His smile was sly. “Lewis didn’t like the competition. He decided to get Travis in trouble.”

  “How was he going to do that?” Eric wondered.

  “By setting it up for Travis to take the blame for killing Linda.”

  I scoffed. “That makes no sense at all. So he gets rid of the competition for her affection by killing her. How does that get him what he wants?”

  “Clearly he’s not such a genius, after all,” Brian snarled.

  “Or you’re lying,” I said, staring the man down.

  Eric walked back and forth in front of Brian, disconcerting him. “You know, Brian. Lewis was just taken to the hospital.”

  “I know. But how come?”

  “He hit his head really hard, and he’s probably still unconscious. He might not recover.”

  “Too bad,” he muttered.

  “So let me ask you this.” Eric stopped pacing and looked at Brian. “Did Lewis kill Linda?”

  His gaze darted from one side to the other. He was nervous again. “Yes.”

  Eric stared him down. “Are you sure?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “So if Lewis recovers and I ask him that same question, what will he tell me?”

  “He killed her!” Brian insisted.

  I took a step forward. “I thought you and Lewis were best friends. Why would you accuse him of killing anyone?”

  “We are best friends,” he insisted. “But even best friends have to get their butts kicked once in a while.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Lewis was getting cocky, and I knew he was about to throw me under the bus.”

  “So you thought you’d throw him first.”

  He shrugged but said nothing.

  Eric resumed his casual pacing. “Were you wearing Lewis’s suede jacket the other day?”

  “He gave it to me!”

  “It’s a nice jacket,” Eric said. “How much did you pay him for it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Did you offer to hide the bloody murder weapon for him?”

  There went his eyes, darting every which way again. It was getting to be a habit with Brian. A definite tell. “What if I did? It doesn’t mean I killed anybody.”

  Mac spoke up from the sidelines. “Sheri thinks you killed Simon Marcello.”

  Brian’s chin jutted out defensively. “She’s not as smart as she thinks she is.”

  “I am, too,” Sheri drawled.

  I sighed. Every one of these people needed a keeper. I was just glad that in a few days, I would never have to see them again.

  * * *

  * * *

  “With the exception of Sheri,” Eric explained later that evening, “the other writers weren’t much help for anything other than peripheral character references.”

  “I assume you stuck Brian in a cell,” Mac said.

  “Oh, you bet. Even if he isn’t guilty of killing Linda and attacking Parks, he’s a thief and an accessory to murder.”

  “And there’s the murder of Simon Marcello,” I said.

  “Yeah, I’ve already got Mindy looking into that case.”

  We were silent for a moment as we all considered what had happened over the past week. Then I asked, “Do you think Brian is actually a writer? Have you seen any of his work?”

  “I haven’t,” Mac admitted. “But I can’t believe the rest of the group would keep him around if he wasn’t actually producing anything.”

  “Lewis might’ve insisted,” Chloe said.

  I nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “It’s a good question for Sheri,” Eric said, and made a note in his pad.

  “Any word on Lewis?” Mac asked.

  Eric reached for his wineglass. “Still unconscious. We’ll have to wait until he recovers before we can get his statement.”

  After a long day of talking to a psychopath and other assorted weirdos, we were sitting in my dining room drinking Barolo and eating excellent pasta and antipasti from Bella Rosso on the town square. Robbie, Tiger, and Luke were happily curled up under the table.

  “I hope he recovers soon,” I said. “But even if he does, who knows if he’ll ever tell you the truth?”

  “I’ll play them against each other,” Eric said. “Promise a lighter sentence to whoever spills first.”

  “That’s so brilliant,” Chloe said, and leaned over to kiss him.

  “Isn’t it?” Eric grinned and kissed her back. “I read about that technique in a police procedural.”

  Mac laughed.

  “But Brian’s goose is cooked,” I said. “He’s killed before. According to Sheri, anyway.”

  Mac swirled his wine. “In my estimation, she’s the only reliable witness.”