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bus?’
    â€˜Oh, dear,’ our other guest of honor said, eyebrows knitting theatrically as he looked up from his magazine. ‘I do hope it wasn’t anything I said.’
    What an ass. ‘Didn’t you realize you’d be doing this event together when you wrote that review of her book?’
    â€˜Of course,’ Potter said. ‘What would that matter?’
    I shrugged. ‘I assumed it would be just … awkward.’
    Prudence snorted. ‘As you can see, Larry’s not the sensitive type.’
    â€˜If authors can’t take criticism,’ Potter said, ‘they shouldn’t be putting their work out there for everyone to read. The same for so-called authorities writing on their subjects. Am I right, Markus?’
    Markus shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well, yes. Reviews are certainly a recognized part of the industry.’
    â€˜Are you a published author?’ I asked.
    â€˜More of a fan.’
    â€˜Fan?’
    â€˜Oh, don’t listen to his self-deprecating bullshit.’ Prudence the Princess confirmed her potty-mouth. ‘Markus is a librarian, as well as a writer in his own right.’
    Markus glanced uneasily at Potter, once again engrossed in his magazine. ‘Just non-fiction. Readers guides and the like.’
    â€˜Writers don’t exist without readers,’ Grace pointed out.
    â€˜Your attention, please!’ Zoe was standing up in the front of the bus, her hand on Pavlik’s shoulder. Just for balance,
I’m sure
. ‘We’re approaching the station and since we’re running late, I’d appreciate everyone exiting the bus quickly and moving to the train.’
    She broke off and leaned down to look out the window, her breasts practically fwopping against Pavlik’s cheeks.
    â€˜Oh, thank God,’ Zoe said, straightening up and tucking a boob back in. ‘Rosemary has just arrived.’
    â€˜Oh, thank God,’ Laurence Potter echoed, gathering up his briefcase. Then a sigh before the words: ‘That woman will be the death of me yet.’

FIVE
    â€˜S o what’s the deal?’ I asked Pavlik when I joined him outside the bus.
    â€˜How do you mean?’ The sheriff seemed uneasy, like a man who feared he was walking into a trap. ‘I guess this must be a tourist train. You know, like the wine one in the Napa Valley or that Tootsie railroad in North Carolina’s High Country.’
    I waved away the fact that we were standing in front of something that looked more like a movie set than a train station that actually transported people who needed to reach somewhere. ‘In North Carolina, it’s “Tweetsie,” not “Tootsie,” but I didn’t mean that. I was talking about the obvious friction.’
    â€˜Friction? Between who?’ Pavlik looked even more uncomfortable. And why? After all, I hadn’t asked what you get when you rub a sheriff and a conference organizer together.
    Instead, I said, ‘It’s “between whom,” I think. Around writers, better get that stuff right. And the “friction” I meant is between Laurence Potter and Rosemary Darlington, of course.’
    â€˜Oh.’ Pavlik’s face relaxed. ‘I don’t have a clue.’
    â€˜It seems to go beyond professional. Larry seems to take Rosemary’s new book as a personal affront.’
    Pavlik was smiling now. ‘“Larry”? Are you going to call him that the entire time, just to provoke the man?’
    Of course. And Zoe Scarlett will continue to call you ‘Jacob’ in that possessively arch way just to provoke me. It’s what we do.
    I shrugged. ‘It seems to be what everybody calls Potter. And besides, from what we’ve seen so far, it doesn’t look like much is required to provoke him.’
    We were following Zoe through the deserted train station. It was then the light dawned on me. ‘Ah, the dragon kimono. I get