Jessica took a drink of water. “To be perfectly frank, no.”
“And why not?” Jane asked.
Jessica glanced around, as if checking to make sure Shirley wasn’t on her way back to the table. “Look, I don’t want to embarrass you if I don’t have to, but we both know you didn’t write Constance.”
“What are you talking about?” said Jane. “Of course I wrote it.”
“Violet Grey has evidence to the contrary,” Jessica said.
Jane gave a start, as if she’d been slapped. “Violet Grey!” she said. “She has no evidence of any kind!”
Jessica smiled thinly. “She said you’d say that.”
“Let me guess,” Jane said. “She told you that I found a long-lost Charlotte Brontë novel and passed it off as my own.” She shuddered at hearing herself say Charlotte’s name.
“Hardly,” Jessica told her. “It’s not good enough to be a Brontë novel, even a minor one. It’s not even good enough to be an Austen novel. Why do you think I rejected it when you sent it to me?”
“You’re a Brontëite,” said Jane. “I should have known.”
“Violet didn’t say whose manuscript you stole, just that you found one and passed it off as your own. But she says the evidence is there, and I trust her.”
Jane sniffed. “How can you trust that vile little liar?”
Jessica frowned. “Because that vile little liar happens to be my sorority sister.”
Jane was about to ask Jessica if “sorority sister” was a euphemism for something more sinister, but Shirley’s reappearance stopped her.
“What have I missed?” Shirley said as she pulled her chair out and sat down.
“Just girl talk,” Jessica chirped. “Jane was saying how grateful she is that you’re able to help us out. Right, Jane?”
Jane forced herself to smile. “Right,” she said. “So very grateful.”
“Then you don’t mind?” asked Shirley. “I was a little worried when you said no one had spoken to you about it.”
Jane laughed lightly as she imagined sinking her fangs into Jessica Abernathy’s throat. “Not at all,” she said. “It was just a little miscommunication.”
Shirley smiled. “That’s a relief,” she said as she picked up a menu. “So, what’s everyone having for lunch?”
“The Cobb salad looks wonderful,” Jessica said, acting as if she hadn’t moments ago told Jane that she was a plagiarist, a liar, and a lousy writer. “What about you, Jane?”
Jane was thinking dark thoughts about having Jessica for lunch when the waiter appeared.
“Oh, there you are,” Jessica said. “I’ll have the—”
“I’m sorry,” the waiter said. “I’ll take your order in just a moment. Is one of you Jane Fairfax?”
“I am,” said Jane.
“There’s a call for you at the host stand,” the waiter informed her. “You can follow me.”
Jane excused herself and trailed behind the young man. When they were out of sight of the table the waiter stopped. “There is no call,” he said in a low voice. “But there’s a gentleman outside who says it’s very important that he speak with you.”
Jane peered toward the front of the restaurant. All of a sudden Byron’s face appeared. Seeing Jane, he motioned for her to come quickly.
“Thank you,” Jane told the waiter. “Will you tell my friends that I had to leave to attend to an emergency at work?” She fished a ten-dollar bill from her purse and slipped it into the young man’s hand. “Tell them I’m very sorry.”
The waiter nodded. “Of course,” he said. “And may I just say, I loved your novel.”
Jane raised an eyebrow. “Did the man outside tell you to say that?” she asked.
“No,” the waiter said. “I recognized your picture from the jacket. I just pretended not to know you in case you were trying to be anonymous.”
“Which of the characters in the novel is your favorite?” Jane asked.
“I’m ashamed to say so, but Jonathan Brut,” the man said.
Jane smiled. “He’s terrible, isn’t he?” she said. “But so handsome. Don’t be ashamed. We’ve all fallen for him at some point.” She looked toward the window again, but Byron had disappeared. “Anyway, thank you for the kind words. They came at just the right time.”
She hurried out the door and found Byron pacing on the sidewalk.
“It’s about time,” he said.
“Bite me,” Jane snapped. “I didn’t realize we had an appointment.”
Byron looked wounded. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked.
“Sorry,” said Jane. “It’s not important. I’ll tell you later. What’s the emergency? Did you find Chloe?”
Byron was walking quickly down the sidewalk. Jane hurried to keep up with him. “Oh, I found her all right,” he said. “She’d made her way back to the film set. I caught her just as she was about to feed on the best boy.”
“The what?” Jane asked.
“Best boy,” said Byron. “A crew member. Works under the gaffer.”
“The what?” said Jane.
“Never mind,” Byron said. “She was about to feed. I had to glamor the boy to forget.”
They’d reached Byron’s car, and Jane waited for him to unlock the doors. “So where’s Chloe?” she asked.
Byron patted the trunk. “In here,” he said. “And she’s none too happy about it.”
As if in response, a loud thud came from inside the trunk. Byron opened the car doors and he and Jane got in.
“Where are we taking her?” Jane asked.
“Back to my house,” answered Byron as he started the car. “But first we have a stop to make.”
Chapter 17
Jane walked into the bookstore and glanced around for any sign of the Hawthorne boys. Neither seemed to be there, but Lucy was behind the front counter.
“Have you seen Ned?” Jane asked. “Or Ted?”
“Does it matter which one?” asked Lucy.
“A bit, yes,” said Jane.
“Gay or straight?” Lucy said.
“Straight,” said Jane.
“Ned,” Lucy told her. “He might be in the storeroom. One of them is. The other went to get lunch, but I didn’t see which of them it was. May I ask what you’re planning on doing with him?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Jane said. “Oh, and if Jessica Abernathy or Posey Frost comes in, tell her you don’t know where I am.”
“That should be easy,” said Lucy. “Because I don’t know where you are. And why is Posey Frost here?”
“I’ll explain that too,” Jane promised. “I also want to speak to you about a certain young rabbi.”
Lucy blushed. “Good,” she said. “Because I want to speak to you about a certain young rabbi.”
Jane started to head for the storeroom, but came back. “We are both talking about Ben Cohen, right?” she said.
Lucy nodded.
“I just wanted to make sure,” said Jane. “It’s getting a bit difficult to keep track of everyone.”
She walked back to the storeroom and opened the door.
One of the Hawthorne boys was standing beside an open carton of books, a copy of the latest Posey Frost novel in his hand. How perfect, Jane thought darkly as she forced herself to smile. “Hello,” she said. She had no idea to which twin she was speaking.
“Hi,” the young man replied. “We haven’t seen much of you around here lately. What brings you in?”
Jane thought frantically for a way to identify the twin without having to actually ask. “Things have been crazy,” she said. “Is your brother here as well?”
“Ted? He’s out getting lunch. But he should be back in a few minutes if you want to talk to him.”
Jane breathed a sigh of relief. She was speaking to Ned.
“That’s all right,” Jane said. “I was hoping to have a chat with you. Actually, Byron and I were hoping to have a chat with you. About a certain young lady whose acquaintance you made?”
Ned set the book down and dusted off his hands. “I thought as much,” he said. He looked down. “I don’t know what happened. I just got carried away.”
Jane put her hand on his shoulder. “It happens to the best of us,” she assured him. “But we do need to speak with you. Byron is waiting in the car out back. Come with me.”