Unfortunately, my instincts proved correct. “I’m sorry, Lila,” he said softly, touching the tip of my chin tenderly. “I can’t come for supper tonight. We’ve got a dozen interviews to conduct regarding the argument Makayla witnessed between Melissa and a female writer, and then I’ve got a conference call with a fellow officer in New York.” My heart sank. I’d really needed Sean’s company tonight. It wasn’t just the murder that had me feeling down—though Lord knows that was enough to cast a pall of gloom over the entire weekend. There was something unaccountably disheartening about the festival coming to an end. All around me, attendees were shouldering the ocher-colored canvas bags provided by Novel Idea, saying good-bye to friends and acquaintances, and heading out into the crisp October afternoon. The final classes were almost finished and the food service kiosks were closing down. The vendors who’d sold scores of bookmarks, writing journals, funky mouse pads, and inspirational posters were placing their remaining wares into boxes.
