“But for Joseph, this wasn’t about selling newspapers. This was personal. He admits that he wasn’t much of a reader when he was young, except that he loved comic books. He especially loved to read about the superheroes and their constant fight for truth and justice.”

  Ian glanced at the faces in the crowd. “But there’s something that Joseph never told anyone. He couldn’t actually read until he was almost ten years old.”

  Some in the audience reacted with gasps of disbelief.

  “It’s true,” Ian said. “The way he finally taught himself to read was through comic books. That’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?”

  Along with the applause were a lot of admiring glances aimed at Joseph, who looked vaguely mortified by the flattering attention.

  “Joseph’s love of stories has grown and evolved,” Ian said. “So much so that he recently told me that he reads at least one book a day.” Ian glanced around the room. “I mean, I like to read, too, but that’s ridiculous.” He grinned and added, “And also commendable.”

  He paused again for the crowd’s reaction, then said, “Now I do have a point to this story. My point is that there are a lot of kids out there who wouldn’t think of picking up a book, but they’ll definitely pick up a comic book. And that’s how Joseph’s reading program began. And within a few years it’s become the biggest and most successful literacy program in the country.”

  The applause made Ian beam with pleasure. “Everyone in this city is familiar with the other highlights of Joseph’s sterling résumé, so I’ll just round it out by saying that while Joseph’s media empire is vast, it all begins with his newspaper, the Clarion. Like his hero Mark Twain, Joseph is a newspaperman. He also happens to be a brilliant businessman and a social media superstar, but most of all, he’s a wonderful friend and supporter of the Covington Library. Please join me in welcoming Joseph Cabot.”

  The cheers and hoots were so loud that my ears were buzzing, but I was happy for Joseph. He truly was a local superstar.

  Joseph stepped onto the stage and shook hands with Ian. Then Ian stepped down and Joseph moved to the podium. His speech was short, funny, and clever. He explained how his love for the works of Mark Twain first developed. “It all started with Tom Sawyer,” he began, and proceeded to charm the crowd with a story about his ten-year-old self getting lost in the cave along with Tom and Becky.

  He took a moment to reiterate the list of festival events, including the aforementioned Jumping Frog Contest in Golden Gate Park, the Riverboat Casino Night at the Embarcadero, and a special event for children, namely, a chance to paint a fence with Tom Sawyer. “Today is only the first day of the festival and while the ‘Look-Alike’ winner in our Mark Twain Festival Look-Alike Contest hasn’t been announced yet, there are already tons of photos posted on social media by people who think they’ve seen him.” He made a face, adding, “As you know, the winner is supposed to look like me. I’ve got to admit, some of those photos are more flattering than others.”

  The crowd laughed.

  “Earlier today, we notified the actual winner of the contest.” He had to pause again for the spontaneous applause. “Our team has thoroughly vetted him and right about now he’s being measured for his new, princely wardrobe.”

  “Quite a twist,” Derek murmured in my ear.

  I gazed up at him. “Is the contest a little creepy or am I just being paranoid?”

  “A bit of both, I believe.”

  Joseph moved on. “I hope I’ll see some of you at the Jumping Frog Contest and the other events going on this week. They’re all going to be a blast, and remember, there will be prizes.”

  The crowd cheered again, liking the thought of prizes.

  “I’ll wrap this up in a minute,” Joseph said, “but I wanted to remind everyone that the festival committee has chosen a book to represent the festival and we’re hoping San Franciscans have already downloaded it and are halfway through it by now. But just in case, all of our local bookstores are featuring the book at a nicely discounted price. Of course, that book is The Prince and the Pauper.”

  He had to wait for the applause to die down. This hall was filled with people who applauded for books. And prizes. You had to love it.

  “Now you might think you know the basic story,” Joseph continued, “but there’s so much more to the book than you remember. So I encourage everyone in town to take the time to read it. And, shameless plug here, don’t forget to read the Clarion every day to find out what’s going on with the festival. ‘Like’ us on all your favorite social media sites using the hashtag TwainFestival.”

  He glanced out at the crowd and grinned. “And for those of you who think I’ve completely lost my moral compass, I’ll remind you that everything we’re doing this week is in support of the Covington Library. That’s always our main goal.”

  Applause broke out again and he held up his hand. “Almost forgot. Anyone with kids will want to check out some special programs going on this week at the Covington. Our favorite bookbinder and papermaker, Brooklyn Wainwright, is restoring a book before our eyes this week and she’ll also be working with the kids on newspaper crafts. Because we’re all about newspapers, right?”

  “Right,” somebody shouted.

  “So if you have a stack of Clarions sitting in your recycling bin, bring them to the Covington, and Brooklyn will show your kids how to turn them into flowers and baskets and Christmas decorations and you-name-it. Her work is clever and fun.” He waved in my direction. “Thanks, Brooklyn!”

  I was totally caught off guard, but managed to give a shaky wave in response.

  I leaned against Derek. “That was so nice of him.”

  He chuckled. “He’s a newspaperman to the end.”

  “Okay,” Joseph continued. “Thanks for listening to my long-winded speech, thank you for your participation, and as always, thank you for your generosity.”

  There was more hand clapping and then Joseph added, “Sorry, folks, but we’ve got one last announcement about the big contest the Clarion is sponsoring, and you won’t believe the grand prize we’re giving away. Here to give you a brief rundown is our events coordinator, Ashley Sharp. Please give her a warm welcome.”

  A young woman jumped up onstage and Joseph gave her a high five as he walked off, accompanied by enthusiastic applause.

  Ashley was barely five feet tall, but her personality made up for it. She was about thirty years old and very pretty, with long dark hair and big brown eyes that sparkled with humor. With the fervor of a high school cheerleader, she spoke quickly and excitedly about the look-alike contest.

  “Unless you’ve been living in a cave for the last two months,” she said into the microphone, “you’ll have heard that we’re holding an amazing contest based on The Prince and the Pauper. You all remember the story, right?”

  She waited for people to chime in with “Right!” Then she responded, “Right! So that inspired us to have a look-alike contest. But”—she held up her finger to emphasize her next point—“with a twist! Instead of trying to find someone who looks like Mark Twain, we decided it would be more fun to find someone in town who looks like our very own Joseph Cabot!”

  Even though many in the audience had just heard the story, they cheered loudly. After a moment Ashley continued. “The Clarion took a poll a few months ago, and believe it or not, Joseph Cabot is more popular than the mayor, the governor, and the manager of the Giants!”

  There were more cheers and a couple of boos—the Giants were on a losing streak—followed by laughter.

  “So, since everyone in town knows and loves Joseph, we thought San Francisco would enjoy the chance to find his doppelgänger.”

  Ashley continued at the same fast pace. “Now, Joseph already announced that we found our winner, but I want to add that we received several thousand entries and some of the people actually bear a slight resemblance to Joseph. These include six cats and two dogs, and I’ll share a secret with you. One of the cats made it into the final round.”

  That brought on another gale of laughter and she quickly went on. “And I don’t have to remind you that we’re giving away hundreds of prizes every day. But the grand prize winner? The person who looks most like Joseph? That person will receive . . . one hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Wow,” I said as the crowd erupted in more gasps. Everyone began to talk at once. The newspaper hadn’t revealed the actual grand prize amount so this was the first we’d heard about it.

  “That’s enough money to kill over,” I whispered.

  Derek shook his head. “Bite your tongue.”

  I looked up at him. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”

  Joseph was standing near the edge of the stage and now he jumped up and rushed to the microphone. “What can I say?” he said cheerily, then pinched his cheeks. “Anyone with a face like mine deserves a break. Am I right?”

  The crowd was eating it up, and when Joseph and Ashley waved and walked off the stage, they kept the applause going for another full minute.

  Joseph grabbed Ashley’s arm and pulled her through the crowd. Just as the audience began to engulf them both, I saw Joseph wrap his arm around Ashley’s shoulders and hug her effusively.

  Ooh boy, I thought. Hope Ella’s not the jealous type.

  “Good heavens,” Ella said, her eyes wide. “He’s going to be smothered by that crowd.”

  Ingrid gave her a pitying look and whispered, “Can you please stop being so stupid?”

  My eyes widened and I looked at Derek. He had overheard the woman, too, but we did our best to pretend we didn’t. I sneaked another peek at Ingrid. She hadn’t bothered to conceal the scorn that accompanied her words. Ella didn’t seem to notice, or else she was careful not to show she cared.

  That was probably the best way to handle the situation, I realized. My next thought was, I’m glad she’s not my mom. My mother would never have said something like that to any of us. Ingrid was the farthest thing from nurturing and I had no idea how to react.

  That was because I had grown up with the world’s best mother, and now I was lucky enough to have the world’s best mother-in-law. When it came to parental love, I had it in barrels. But I understood what it was like to experience the opposite. My best friend Robin’s mother had rarely come home to visit, let alone shown any affection or concern for her daughter. Robin had tried to be strong, but that kind of treatment always left a mark.

  I shook myself out of those thoughts and considered Ella. She had everything going for her on a physical level, but if her mother treated her like this on a regular basis, her life was far from the perfect picture she painted. She acted as though she didn’t care about her mother’s sharp words, but I couldn’t believe that.

  I looked away from her in time to notice Joseph and Ashley approaching. They walked arm in arm in a way that I recognized as friendly and warm, but a quick look at Ella’s mother assured me that she didn’t agree. In fact, I was pretty sure there was smoke coming out of her ears. She was not happy to see this younger woman acting so cozy with her rich, handsome son-in-law.

  Ella, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice or care. She dashed over to greet her husband and the event coordinator with a broad smile and she clapped her hands gaily. “You were both wonderful.” She turned to Ashley. “You are such a good speaker, Ashley. You made everyone feel excited about the festival and the contest.”

  Ashley flushed with pleasure at the compliment. “Thank you, Ella. This is the best project I’ve ever worked on and I’m really grateful to Joseph for the opportunity.”

  Ella patted her arm. “We’re equally grateful to you for your hard work and enthusiasm.”

  I caught Ingrid rolling her eyes. She obviously disapproved of Ella’s effusiveness. Did she disapprove of everything her daughter did? Maybe she didn’t like Ella being so nice to a young woman who could turn out to be a rival for her husband’s affections. But she had to know that if Ella had reacted angrily and appeared jealous of Ashley, it would’ve been worse.

  “Mother, dear,” Ella said brightly. “Let me introduce you to Ashley. She’s Joseph’s event coordinator and she’s doing such good work for the newspaper.” She turned to Ashley. “This is my mother, Ingrid Norden.”

  Ashley inclined her head politely. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Norden.”

  With her head held high, Ingrid nodded, queen to peasant. I found it impossibly rude, but Ashley took it in stride. In Ingrid’s defense, she was so tall that she would likely look down her nose at almost anyone. Ashley nevertheless won some points for ignoring Ingrid’s obvious ill will.

  And again, Ella didn’t seem to notice, but I did. And I thought, Meow. Watch out for those mama claws.

  I gave Derek a quick look and he winked at me in a way that told me he’d seen the same thing I’d seen and we would talk later. How could I not love a guy who picked up on the same vibes that I did?

  But when I took another quick glance at Ingrid Norden, she was clearly seething, even more than she’d been a minute ago. I made a mental note to remind myself of that when Derek and I finally did talk later, I would point out that if anyone died tonight, that woman would be my number one suspect. Because, seriously, if looks could kill, Ella’s mama would likely be arrested for murder.

  Chapter 3

  Be good and you will be lonesome.

  —Frontispiece from first edition of Mark Twain’s Following the Equator

  Extricating herself from her mother’s eagle eye and her husband’s whispered tête-à-tête with his events coordinator, Ella glided over and joined me. “Brooklyn, Ian tells me you have your own works on display here. I would love to see what you’ve done, but I’m not familiar with the library and don’t know my way around. Would you mind giving me a short tour?”

  “Not at all,” I said, surprised and pleased by her request. “Anytime you’d like.” I admit, I love showing off my work to anyone who asks. Still, I couldn’t help that a smidgen of doubt trickled into my mind. Did she have an ulterior motive?

  And could I be more suspicious? Lighten up, I told myself. Give the woman a chance. Besides, if her only motive was to get herself away from her witchy mama for a few minutes, I was here to offer my support.

  “Shall we do it right now?” she suggested brightly.

  “Oh.” I gave Derek a quick look, then said, “Sure. Let’s go.”

  “Wonderful.” She slipped her arm through mine companionably—except she was so tall that my wrist ended up nestled against her elbow. I started to laugh but realized she hadn’t even noticed. It was weird.

  As we walked and chatted, I held on to the thought that she had been in a hurry to get away from her mother. I also figured she might’ve been rushing off to avoid watching young Ashley gaze dreamily at her handsome husband. It was hard to miss the fact that Ashley had a bit of a crush on Joseph.

  But again, did Ella even care? Ashley was young and smart and exuberant and as cute as a button—a phrase that made no sense at all when I thought about it. I mean, really? Buttons were cute? But I digressed. My point was, Ella’s mother obviously considered the younger woman a threat to her daughter’s marriage, even if the daughter didn’t.

  As we strolled through the crowd, I stole a glance up at Ella and all those odd thoughts faded away. This woman was simply breathtaking. Even this close, I couldn’t see a flaw. How could her own mother ever think that Joseph would stray from her? Not that looks were everything, I admitted to myself.

  But even if her mother was focused on the possibility that Joseph was attracted to another woman, Ella didn’t seem concerned about it. She looked positively serene.

  Maybe there was some kind of cosmic law that prevented the beautiful Ella from suffering that sort of angst. Or maybe not. Maybe I was crazy, but boy, women like Ella seemed to have things all worked out. Whatever was going on with the woman, she appeared completely tranquil.

  “You and Derek have been such good friends to Joseph,” Ella said as we reached the far end of the main hall and turned right into another wide gallery hall. “I appreciate it so much.”

  “It’s easy to be friends with Joseph,” I said. “He’s a wonderful person.” I quickly added, “And it’s been really nice getting to know you, too.”

  I was surprised to realize I meant it, despite the intimidation factor.

  Ella glanced from side to side. “There are no books along this hallway, just artwork.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Ian’s intention with this area was to create a sort of oasis while passing from one book collection to the next.”

  “It is soothing,” she said quietly.

  “I think the lighting helps, as well as the choice of artwork.” The lighting here was more subdued with pinpoint spotlights illuminating the wonderful works displayed on the walls. These paintings could’ve easily lined the walls of the Louvre or, more locally, the Palace of the Legion of Honor. The art represented every imaginable style and period, from Monet and Corot to Rembrandt and Franz Hals, to Boucher and Fragonard, to Picasso and all the way forward to Diebenkorn, Jasper Johns, and Frank Stella.