Bell, Book, and Scandal

said.

They hurried to find good seats close to the front. The speech was, indeed, fascinating. Chester not only could quote from almost every book he'd ever read, but he'd also learned what Jane had learned: Do your research and don't bore listeners and readers by telling them what they already know.

Jane and Shelley both took copious notes. He mentioned several authors he highly recommended that neither woman had read. It would mean one more trip to the booksellers' room, specifically to Mr. Griffith's booth before it was out of those books.

Jane whispered to Shelley, 'The account of my interview will have to wait while we buy some of these books he's talked about.'

'You're sure that's okay with you? I don't want you to forget to repeat every word Ms. Johnson told you,' Shelley whispered back.

'I haven't forgotten anything. I probably won't put it in the right order though.'

When the talk was over, they nearly ran to the booksellers' room. Mr. Griffith did have a few old copies of the out-of-print books as well as new ones he'd talked about, and they snatched them and held on to them until he could return to sell them.

'I vaguely remember reading and liking Dorothy Simpson's and Gwendoline Butler's books with the British detectives long ago. But I need to catch up on their later work. I just forget, somehow, to look under B and S in the bookstores, I guess. I'm so glad he mentioned them.'

'I want to try out Deborah Crombie. I liked what he said about her work. I don't think I've ever read one of hers,' Shelley came back.

When Mr. Griffith returned to his booth, they both thanked him for his suggestions, then took another heavy hit on their credit cards.

'Let's take these up to the suite and then have lunch so you can tell me about your interview. We have time before Mel's presentation,' Shelley suggested. 'Then we can go back to dipping into our new stash of books.'

Fourteen

Jane didn't really expect Mel to tell the audience much more than he had already told her about his work. She was attending in a supportive role, providing him with a friend and lover in the audience. She was surprised, however, at how much she learned about investigation of the scene of the crime. This was a genuinely enlightening talk and drew a great many more attendees than she'd seen in the other room. People were standing at the sides of the room and sitting in the middle of the center aisle.

All of them, including Jane, were taking notes. It was a good thing she and Shelley had come early and found seats in the front row. Jane was so proud of him she couldn't stop grinning. It was a new impression of him — as a public speaker who was so skilled.

However, he did go on for just a bit too long about how it was all too easy these days to acquire thin latex gloves to conceal fingerprints.

Every hardware store, beauty supply shop, and paint store provided them.

Then he admitted that the occasional really stupid criminal sometimes disposed of them near the scene after committing the crime. When that happened, the gloves could be carefully turned inside out to reveal the prints.

'But it doesn't happen often enough,' he added with a dazzling smile, then went right into a discussion of fiber matches.

After he was done with the speech, at least twenty attendees, mostly older women, lined up to ask him specific questions. Jane and Shelley stayed in their seats until he'd answered all of them.

'You were great!' Jane said when everyone had left, and she gave him a big hug. 'I had no idea what a good speaker you are, and how good you look at a podium.'

'It's all part of my job,' he said modestly.

'No. Lots of people in law enforcement know what you know. Not many of them can present it as well,' Jane insisted.

'Thanks,' he said, looking slightly embarrassed at this sudden gush of praise.

'What are you doing for the rest of the day?' Shelley asked him. 'Are you going to attend any of the other sessions?'

'Nope. Fictional crime isn't really my interest,' he admitted. 'The few novels I've read have glaring mistakes that drive me crazy.

That's why we send officers out to explain to the public how sophisticated and technical the process really is these days. Besides, I'm giving the talk about forensics I was supposed to do in the first place.'

'Have you heard anything else about Zac?' Jane asked.

'Just that he's conscious. No apparent brain damage.'

'That's good,' Jane replied. 'But does he know what happened to him?'

'Not a clue, if you'll forgive the phrase. I'm told he remembers that he needed to do something at his home, which is apparently fairly close. Nothing after that.'

'Will he remember later, do you think?' Shelley asked.

'I'm not qualified to answer that, as you both know. Sometimes a blow to the head only creates temporary amnesia. Sometimes it's permanent. I'm not a doctor and don't play one on TV.'

'Wait just one more minute, Mel,' Jane said, closing her eyes, hoping she could remember the fleeting, and now missing, question she wanted to ask Mel about Zac. She still couldn't pull it from the back of her brain. She knew it was there somewhere, if only she could dredge it up.

'Never mind. I've lost the thought again,' Jane said.

Mel was obviously becoming impatient, if not downright cranky, about being held up to discuss

116 Jill Churchill

an attack that he'd already said several times wasn't his case.

Jane said too cheerfully, 'You could collect a bunch more accolades if you'd hang out in the lobby for a while.'

'What was that about?' Shelley asked when Mel had gone.

'What?'

'You acted as if you had a question to ask him.'

'I thought I did. But I couldn't remember what the question was. I felt for a second there that it was about to bubble up when Mel finished. It passed fleetingly through my mind yesterday, but I can't seem to be able to bring it back. I think it might have been important.'

'Any way I can help?' Shelley asked.

'No. It's a Frederic Remington thing.'

'What on earth does that mean?'

'You know. When you're trying desperately to remember someone's name? And when you give up, it comes to you out of the blue a couple of days later and just springs out at you.'

'This happens to you often?' Shelley said with a worried look.

'It happens to everybody, I thought. I've seen you suddenly come out with a word you'd been searching your mind for. Last time it happened, it was 'ontology,' whatever that is. Remember saying it to yourself in the middle of a conversation about petunias?'