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Archibald and Anne Tripper, whose conversation stopped at our approach, although their facial expressions indicated they hadn’t resolved their differences. Betsy appeared pleased to see us. Miss Tripper was obviously annoyed at the interruption.
    “How do you do,” Anne said, giving me icy fingers to shake when Antonio introduced us. She gave Grady a cool nod, and scowled when Betsy excused herself to find the producer, who was late in arriving.
    “I understand we have an agent in common,” she said to me.
    “Matt Miller?”
    “Yes. He’s going to represent my next book.”
    Matt had told me not to say anything about his representing her, but here Anne Tripper was talking about it freely. “Matt’s been my agent for many years,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll do a good job for you, too.”
    “He’d better. I plan to be at the top of the bestseller list by next fall. If the publisher he comes up with doesn’t meet my timetable, it’ll be the last time Miller gets a book of mine.” She fiddled with a large black opal ring on her index finger, one of three rings she wore on that hand.
    “He told me he expects it to be a bestseller,” I said, “but it isn’t the agent who markets the book. It’s the publisher.”
    She waved her hands in the air as if dismissing my statement. “Any publisher will fall all over itself to sell my book. They have to if they want to make their money back.”
    “Signora Fletcher, she is a bestseller,” Antonio said, smiling from one to the other of us. “Her books are very popular in Italy.” Then he hastened to add, “As are yours, of course, Signorina Tripper.”
    “Nice of you to remember,” she said.
    Antonio seemed to start. I thought his response was to Anne’s chilly remark, but he pulled a case from his pocket and consulted his cell phone, which must have vibrated to alert him to a message.
    “I’m published in a dozen countries, although God knows why,” Anne said. “I write about the impact of American industries. Americans understand what I’m saying. No one else in the world does. They just put our books on their shelves to prove that they’re well-read. They probably do the same with yours. Are you published in any important countries, other than our own, of course?”
    “A few,” I said, cringing inside for the insult she’d just paid Antonio’s homeland, implying that it was unimportant. Fortunately, he wasn’t paying attention to our conversation.
    Grady, however, was. Not about to let Anne Tripper outdo me, he jumped in. “Aunt Jess! Your books are translated into at least sixty languages,” he said.
    “I see you have your own promoter with you,” Anne said. Her lips formed a small smile, but it never reached her eyes. She looked around the room. “Everyone seems to have brought along an assistant. Perhaps I should have as well.” Her eyes swung back to mine. “But then, I never have a problem speaking for myself.”
    “I don’t imagine you do,” I replied.
    “I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other,” she said, “but right now I have to catch Betsy Archibald. We weren’t finished with our conversation when your arrival cut it short. You don’t mind, I’m sure.” She walked away.
    Grady’s eyes met mine and he directed a long stream of air toward his forehead, raising strands of hair that had tumbled down.
    I gave him a little shake of my head, and he understood not to comment in front of Antonio, who looked up from his cell phone to realize Anne had departed. “She is gone?” He glanced at his watch. “ Ecco! I must find the producer. The meeting, she should begin.” He gave a short bow in my direction, grabbed my hand, and clasped it to his breast. “Signora Fletcher, so wonderful to acquaint with you. I am so happy you are to be in our patch.”
    He must have seen my confusion.
    Antonio looked at Grady. “This is right? Patch?”
    “Spot,” Grady answered.
    “Ah, yes. Spot. Thank you, my friend.” He turned