The last commercial ended, and the announcer came back on—the same exceedingly animated guy that my dad used to listen to when I was a kid and he’d take me to Saturday soccer practice in his shiny Audi. This announcer had to be close to one hundred by now, yet that cheesy radio voice hadn’t changed a bit. He still hung on to everyrlike a long-lost love. “Our top story tonight,” he said. “Queen of Romance Melanie Joan Hall has been arrested for the murder of Leila Donnelly.”
I nearly drove off the road.
Forty-six
It was the laptop. Connecticut State Police had obtained a warrant to search Charles’s Town Car, and in the trunk they’d found Leila Donnelly’s missing laptop, which contained drafts of her most recent manuscripts, her signed contract with Scepter Books—and the hundreds of reviews she’d written as Book Babe.
Someone had leaked that information to the press, which I found ironic. After all this time, Leila Donnelly had been outed for having a sock puppet that she’d weaponized against Melanie Joan. But it had happened posthumously, and instead of destroying Leila’s career the way I’d assumed it would, it had given romance fans even more reason to hate my old friend.
“Police sources allege that Melanie Joan Hall had discovered that her rival had been behind the one-star review,” the syrupy-voiced announcer was saying. “They see that as a potentialmotive for the shooting. An overreaction? Certainly. But for the Queen of Romance, melodrama has been known to reign supreme.”
I groaned. This guy should have retired about forty years ago.
My phone rang. It was Spike. “Where are you?” he said.
“Connecticut border,” I said.
“Did you hear?” Spike said.
“Just,” I said. “It was on the radio.”
“I just heard, too. Tony told me. He’s here with me now, at the restaurant.” Spike told me they were in his office and that I was on speakerphone.
“Did Melanie Joan call you, Tony?” I asked.
“No, Rita did,” Tony said. “MJ had one phone call, so of course she chose her attorney.”
“Of course,” I said.
“She’s getting booked right now. She’ll most likely be held overnight at the Hartford Correctional Center.”
“I’ll turn around,” I said.
“No,” Tony said. “She specifically said she didn’t want any visitors there except Rita.”
“Why not?”
“Rita didn’t say.”
“I’m sure she wants as few people as possible to see her in institutional attire,” Spike said. “They also confiscate makeup, so…”
“Right.”
Spike could have taught a Ph.D.-level course in Melanie Joan. I tried to picture her getting cuffed and fingerprinted, hermakeup and jewelry thrown into plastic bags, along with her sunglasses, her red-bottoms. It felt like psychological torture. I hoped Rita could calm her down. “What about Charles?” I said.
“Both of their bail hearings are tomorrow morning. Rita thinks he has a much better chance than she does of getting released.”
I had to agree. The charges against him weren’t as serious. Plus, he wasn’t famous enough to be made an example of.
“Rita said she wasn’t sure she should be representing both of them, because Charles might want to turn on Melanie Joan and cop a plea.”
“She obviously doesn’t know Charles,” I said. “I think he’d sooner do a fifty-year sentence than turn on Melanie Joan.”
“Agreed,” Spike said.
“Yeah, what is it about her?” Tony said.
“What is it aboutus?” Spike said.
