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back to me. “I am so happy you are to be in our spot.”
    Grady waited for Antonio to leave, then leaned toward me. “Before anyone comes back, Aunt Jess, would you mind if we took something from the buffet? I never got any breakfast this morning. I was running late and had to take Frank to school. I’m starving.”
    “I don’t mind at all,” I said. “Let’s take a peek at what they have. I could use a little fortification, especially if I have to spend a lot more time with some of my ‘costars.’ ”
    “Gosh, I’m sorry, Aunt Jess. I didn’t know what they’d be like. At least Stella Bedford is nice.”
    “Very nice, Grady. And don’t you fret about this. I’ve worked with difficult people before.”
    We picked up plates and napkins and walked to the end of the buffet, passing Lance Sevenson, who was berating the young woman with the clipboard. “You are to be ready whenever I need you, not wandering about the room,” he said, forgetting for a moment to use his British accent. What’s his real accent? I mused.
    Lance breathed in noisily and straightened up. “I want you at my side recording everything I say. I must have accuracy. The next book will be on my wit and wisdom, and it is your responsibility to capture it.”
    “But you waved me off. I thought you didn’t want me there.”
    “When I don’t want you there, I will tell you. Until then, you are to be my shadow. If I snap my fingers, I want your undivided attention. Understand?”
    She hung her head.
    “Understand?” he persisted.
    “Yes, sir.”
    Grady raised his eyebrows at me and grimaced. “Hoo boy. Wouldn’t want to work for him,” he whispered.
    “Nor would I,” I agreed.
    We filled our plates with an assortment from the buffet and found seats at the large conference table, which was soon occupied by the others in the room. Stella Bedford perused our selections as she passed behind our chairs, and returned a moment later, taking a seat next to Grady. “I got one of those pastries you have, hon,” she said, giving him a flirtatious smile. “They look yummy, just like you.”
    Grady, who’d been taking a sip of coffee, began to cough and Stella pounded him on the back. “I always seem to have this effect on young men,” she said, grinning at me.
    “Cookie, leave the boy alone,” said a large gentleman in an aqua Western shirt and string tie as he pulled out a chair next to the cookbook author. He slid a paper plate on the table—it was piled high with three different pastries, two mini muffins, a croissant, and a bagel with cream cheese—and sat heavily, the chair bouncing a bit from his weight.
    “This is Jimbo Barnes, my manager,” Stella said. She turned to him. “You musta heard of Jessica Fletcher, the famous mystery writer. Well, here she is in the flesh. And this handsome guy is her nephew, Grady.”
    Jimbo nodded at me and reached across Stella to give Grady’s hand a shake. “Nice to meet ya,” he said. “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?”
    “You look familiar to me, too,” Grady said, “but I can’t quite place you.”
    “The airport,” I put in.
    Jimbo and Grady looked at me perplexed.
    “I recognized the cowboy boots.”
    “My boots?” Jimbo looked down at his feet and smiled. “These were custom-made special for me in El Paso, boot capital of the world.”
    “Oh, right,” Grady said, hunching his shoulders. “I nearly knocked you down with my aunt’s suitcase.”
    “You and the boy. I remember now. That’s all right; no harm done.” He pulled a red kerchief from his pocket and wiped it over the pointed toes of his boots.
    “You makin’ friends behind my back, Jimbo?” Stella said, leaning into Grady.
    “Don’t pay no mind to this flirt. She loves to discomfort all the men. I think it’s her hobby.”
    “Now, that ain’t nice, Jimbo,” Stella said. “I just like to have gentlemen around me. Makes me feel young and pretty.” She nibbled at a cherry Danish that she’d