Bell, Book, and Scandal

Jane.

Eventually someone else would have pointed out that the book was plagiarized. Felicity had already half believed she knew who Miss Mystery was and would have described the woman and warned her friends if Shelley hadn't taken that picture of her.

What's more, Jane had annoyed Mel by making him find the page Zac had been holding. Just when their romance was going so well. She didn't dare alienate Shelley as well.

Jane sighed, smiled, and said, 'You're absolutely right. Let's forget it and survive the rest of the conference and put it out of our minds. I'm feeling better and a bit hungry. May I raid some of those snacks in the cabinet in the mini-kitchen?'

Shelley hauled herself off the couch and said, 'You've come to your senses. Let's see what goodies are in there.'

They found lots of good things in the cabinet. Fancy little bags of chips, many tiny bottles of excellent booze, pretzels the shape of stars, itsybitsy peanut butter sandwiches. They stayed away from the many chocolates stashed in there, but Jane suggested they each have a bottle of brandy with their snack.

'We don't want to be tiddly for the final event, Jane.'

'The bottles hold hardly more than a tablespoon. We can't become drunk on them.'

Shelley agreed but said, 'We could if we drank all of them.' And they sat down at the big table with their snacks, sharing little packets. Both women knew they'd been dangerously close to making each other seriously angry for the first time in their long, satisfying friendship, and put all thoughts of plagiarism, publishing, writing, mingling, and the other participants' problems out of their minds.

Twenty-eight

Before the conference's final activities, Jane called home again for the umpteenth time, this time to ask Katie to keep the washer and dryer free because she had so much clothing to wash when she came home.

'Oh, Mom, can't it wait a while? I'm washing all of Todd's bedding already. He's been eating in his bed and it's full of crumbs. And yes, I've already vacuumed his room, if that's your next question.'

Jane was astonished at this display of domesticity, and agreed that her clothing could wait until the next day. 'I'll be there before two.'

When Shelley and Jane entered the meeting room a little bit late for the closing ceremonies, the first thing Jane noticed was that it was an enormous room. Shelley, who knew a lot about hotels, understood. Jane didn't.

'Isn't this where the small rooms were yesterday? Or wasn't I paying enough attention to know where we are?'

'Those rooms for the seminars are this room. Look at the breakdown walls where the former walls have been hidden.'

'What a great idea! I'd never have guessed. And look at that food!'

Shelley swiveled around and gawked. The back of the room was lined with draped tables that bore an almost alarming assortment of food: sandwiches, chips, dips, salads, desserts, and drinks.

'We really should have read the brochure!' Shelley exclaimed. 'Now we've already ruined our appetites for all this gorgeous stuff.'

'I haven't,' Jane admitted. 'We only snacked. Why are these people dressed so weirdly?'

Studying the crowd, Jane felt as if she were at a Halloween party for grown-ups. A great many of the attendees were in costume. Jane and Shelley stood in the long line for food and glanced around and discovered at least three Arthur Conan Doyles, two of them accompanied by his creation, Sherlock Holmes. The third one was with a group of women who were dressed as grubby little boys — Doyle's Baker Street Irregulars.

There were also at least half a dozen Miss Marples with their knitting, prissy dresses, purses, and frumpy hats. Several men and a few women had attended as Hercule Poirot.

There was a whole flock of 1930s butlers in their black uniforms who were gathered together laughing. A few maids of the same era, somequite glamorous, were on the fringes of this boisterous group, with drinks on plastic trays.

Many of the costumes eluded them. Several ladies were dressed in floral clothing from the Golden Era of Mystery, with big floppy hats and strings of cheap fake pearls. These must have been minor characters from books featuring deadly garden parties. One gentleman wore golf trousers that Jane remembered were called bags and looked a bit like the huge flapping jeans that teenage boys wore nowadays. Except that they were gaitered up at the knees.

Shelley muttered, 'You'd have to put a cattle prod to my temple to force me to dress up like that.'

'I think it's sort of cute. But for myself, I agree. Hey, Shelley, let's have our pictures taken with the butlers and maids.'

'Heaven forbid!'

'Don't be a spoilsport,' Jane said as they finally approached the food tables.

They loaded up on tiny ham sandwiches, chips, dips, salads, and desserts as if they hadn't eaten for weeks, then looked for a place to sit. Tables for eight were scattered through the room. Some were fully occupied. Most had a few empty spots. They spotted Felicity, surrounded by fans, and Jane put down her drink in order to slip Felicity's lunch bill into her hand. She was blessed with a grateful smile and a wink.

'We want a table with two places together,

don't we?' Jane asked Shelley as they balanced their full plates and wove their way with caution through the banquet room.

Neither of them was still wearing her tag and most of the others weren't either, so when they found a spot and asked if they could join the strangers, they were welcomed with introductions. Shelley said she was Enid Potts and Jane said she was Olga Strange.

There were two published authors at the table who cheered them and asked them to sign their copies of Miss Mystery's picture for posterity. Obviously they'd checked Miss Mystery's web site this morning.

Shelley said, 'We are not lesbians, we're neighbors; Enid and Olga aren't our real names; and neither of us has ever been to Alaska.'

The authors laughed heartily about how well they'd misled Miss Mystery.

Jane whispered to Shelley, 'Aren't you glad we didn't go home earlier? It's fun to pretend to be celebrities. We should grab a few of these pictures if they're still around and sign them to ourselves.'

A man lurched by their table. A very tall man, wearing heavy shoes that looked as if they'd been built up somehow to make him taller. Jane glimpsed him in profile as he passed, and saw that he was wearing a Frankenstein mask.

'Who's that?' Jane asked the man sitting next to her.

'Sophie Smith's assistant. Corey or some name like that,' he said.

'Corwin,' Jane muttered. He was the last person, aside from Sophie Smith, she would have expected to be in costume. He reminded her of the horrifying glass man in her awful dream. Something about the way he moved. She involuntarily shuddered and tried to put away the memory.

'Are you cold?' Shelley asked.

'No. Someone just walked over my grave.'

'I wonder where that old phrase comes from?' Shelley said, setting off quite a discussion among the others at the table.

The talk then veered to whether Frankenstein was really classed as a mystery. Most thought it was, but one woman claimed it was a twisted love story. The man sitting next to Jane declared it pure horror.

Soon waiters hovered nervously from table to table, asking people if they were finished and clearing plates.