The Christie Caper - Carolyn Hart [97]
Annie interrupted to keep the record straight. “Seventy-nine. The eightieth, Sing a Song of Sorrow, is due out in October.”
“Hmm. Emma has won two Edgars and a Grand Master Award.” Lady Gwendolyn nodded. “I enjoyed winning my Edgar. One.” Was there a tart ring to her voice? “I haven’t been named Grand Master.” Her tone indicated it was only a matter of time.
As she continued, Annie nodded. She knew all about the island’s celebrity author, creator of Marigold Rembrandt and rich beyond the dreams of most mystery writers. Her seventy-ninth book, The Grinning Skull, had been published only six months before. A competent, intense, domineering woman. Army nurse, World War II. Married briefly to a Tennessean she met on a troop ship coming home from North Africa. A second brief marriage not too long ago ended with her husband’s death (some believed murder) when he mysteriously fell from the stern of Marigold’s Pleasure and drowned. Emma hadn’t been pleased when she discovered he was cheating on her. A tough lady.
Emma was quite capable of any amount of devious planning, but surely Emma wouldn’t commit murder because of a friend’s mistreatment? And no author would commit murder over bad reviews.
Would they?
After some of the bitter comments she’d overheard during the conference, Annie wasn’t absolutely certain of that conclusion.
“Such a wonderful writer.” Laurel fingered a khaki button on her shirt. “Contradictions, aren’t we all such a mass of contradictions! Surely a disquieting aura of suspicion clings to our dear Emma. And Henny’s view of Bledsoe is so understandable, but let me tell you of my research.” She turned several pages. “Let’s begin with Derek.
“Derek Davis was born in 1964, in Springfield, Illinois. Father, Donald Davis, an accountant; mother, Pamela Gerrard Davis, a novelist. Parents divorced in 1981. Pamela met Bledsoe at her agent’s office the following year and married him only weeks later.” Laurel lifted an angelic head. “Marry in haste; repent at leisure.”
“There is surely much truth in old sayings,” Lady Gwendolyn agreed.
Annie stifled a catcall. Wasn’t it Laurel’s third marriage, to that Italian race car driver, Roderigo, that took place two weeks after she met him?
Laurel smiled beatifically and resumed her report. “Second marriage difficult for Derek. Bledsoe treated his stepson with open contempt, claiming that young Derek was girlish with his love of poetry and painting. Derek’s high-school grades were spotty. He excelled in English and art, barely passed math and science. He attended a noncompetitive Midwestern college. He was in his last year when his mother died in a fall. Three weeks later, he dropped out of school. Fraternity brother Bill Elliott: ‘Derek went bananas when his mom died. He always drank too much, but so do a lot of guys in college. But he stopped going to class, stayed drunk. The dean of men, though, is a good guy. He understood, got Derek out on withdraw/passing for the fall semester. Derek kept saying his stepfather killed his mom. I don’t know, maybe so. I went home with Derek a couple of times and that guy was a real asshole. Bullied Derek’s mom. She got drunk every night Maybe she did fall down the steps. Who knows?’”
Annie knew how hard it was to lose a mother. How much worse would it be if you blamed someone else for that death? And perhaps blamed yourself because you weren’t there to prevent it.
“Poor Derek,” Annie said quietly.
Laurel flashed her a warm and understanding glance, and Annie remembered once again why she loved her mother-in-law, despite her dingbat proclivities.
“Such an unhappy story,” Laurel commiserated. “Derek showed up intoxicated at his mother’s funeral. He tried to attack Bledsoe. Some of the funeral home employees hustled him outside. After that, the boy dropped out of sight. His mother’s editor, Nathan Hillman, found him four months later living on