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?“Mark.”
?“You know how to snake this under your clothes?”
?“Sure.”
?I watched him hand Mark the microphone body pack.
?The sound man went on. “I’ll take you to the green room.”
?The pair of them wandered out through the backstage. I listened for a moment, and then moved silently from my hiding place and headed for the side door where I came in. I needed a drink before I could sit through this lecture because I was already in a sour mood.
?Seeing another woman go into full-out seduction mode as Candy had, and seeing Mark’s reaction and the heat in his eyes had been disconcerting. It had been a long time since I felt that heat, and now I had to admit a part of me missed it.
?I went to the bar on the mezzanine level and ordered a double.
7. Query
Mark Watkins
?I waited in the small meeting room down the hall that acted as the “green room” as they say in show-business vernacular.
?Joe watched me put the mic on under my suit and checked the connections once it was in my pocket.
?After I was ready, Joe left, and I sat at the large table in a comfortable chair and found a bottle of water in a small refrigerator.
? I reviewed my notes, rereading a couple phrases out loud to make sure I didn’t fumble over the words.
?Joe came in again, pulled the microphone box from out of my back pocket, and flipped a switch.
?“You’re on!” he said. I followed him out of the room and through a door to the stage wings.
?In front of the podium stood Jon Kane, who was speaking into a wired microphone on a stand. “It gives me great pleasure to introduce our opening-night speaker, a man whose best seller, Death In The Borley Rectory, is still considered one of the finest Sherlock Holmes stories, Mark Watkins.”
?He turned to me and gestured. I stepped forward and pulled the impressive pipe out of my pocket as I reached the podium.
?The room was packed. In fact, some people stood along the curtained side walls, as all the chairs were full. The crowd applauded loudly, and I felt a bit overwhelmed. After months of hardly venturing out of my apartment, here was a room crammed with people who wanted to hear me speak.
?The clapping faded, and I held the pipe aloft.
?“If all you saw were Hollywood films,” I began, “you might think that a pipe like this and a few props were what made Sherlock Holmes the greatest detective of all time.”
?I went on with my prepared speech. The audience was electrified. I’d made sure that my presentation was filled with jokes, and I was pleased most of them got laughs. I threw in
one that I knew would get a groan. It did, but it only put the audience on my side even more.
?I spun a great tale that tied Holmes to his modern equivalent: the forensic departments of the police that used partial fingerprints and DNA to help catch criminals.
?For a finale, I hammered home the point that evidence, logic, and deduction was what made Holmes a great sleuth. I finished by saying how the techniques Conan Doyle envisioned, so revolutionary in their day, were now the standard by which all detectives pursued solutions.
?The crowd exploded into fresh applause and rose to their feet as one man, clapping their hands together enthusiastically.
?In the back I saw Candy clap and yell her approval, and felt a flush as an imagined picture of her without the red dress—or anything else—flashed through my mind.
?I held up my hands for silence. The crowd grew quiet and returned to their seats.
?“I will be happy to take a few questions,” I offered, relieved that the hard part was over and I could relax.
?A male voice rang out first.
