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?“Not at all. In her case, it’s personal,” Sheryl said, and she faced me, her green eyes afire. “Did she mention she slept with my husband?”
?“Your…husband,” I repeated.
?“Ex-husband now!” Sheryl rose and walked to the door as I remained in my seat, my jaw agape.
?She reached the door and stopped. “Maybe I should thank you. Last I heard, Randall and Candy were still an item. I can’t wait to see his face when I tell him who she was with last night.”
?I stood as she stormed out.
?I sat back down and thought it through.
?Candy slept with Randall Lawrence? She’d neglected to mention that little fact.
?I headed out of the conference room, which was beginning to fill with members of the next panel, and made my way to the mezzanine. I went quickly to the welcome booth, only to find Jon Kane manning the counter, with a middle-aged lady who wore a badge that named her “Alice.”
?“Mark,” he said, his voice registering delight. “Great speech last night! How did the panel go?”
?“Sheryl Homes and I almost came to blows,” I reported, “but the editor of Sherlock Holmes Magazine said it was the liveliest panel he’d ever been to.”
?“Well, that’s something! Marvin tells it like it is,” he said, an eyebrow raised. “How can I help you?”
?“I’m trying to find Candy.”
?“Not here right now,” Jon said and grabbed a clipboard, which he scanned quickly. “She’s supposed to be helping set up a PowerPoint display for tonight’s speaker.”
?“Oh,” I said weakly, then I pushed on. “I heard Candy was involved with Sheryl Homes’ ex-husband?”
?“Randall?” Kane said and frowned. “I wouldn’t know. Randall is a charter member of the club—one of the founders. I knew that he and Sheryl got a divorce about a year back.”
?“Amicable?”
?“I understand it was quite messy,” Jon said. “As far as Candy, we are both on the conference planning board, but I honestly don’t know her socially.”
?“Ah! Well thanks, Jon,” I said.
?“Oh, Mark!” Jon looked at his watch. “Isn’t it time for your book signing? I have you on the schedule.”
?I slapped my head, not a bright move with the remains of my headache. “You’re right! I’ve got to go!” I turned and headed into the vast conference room.
?As I drew closer to the signing booth, I saw a short line that waited for me.
?I passed the “YE OLDE MYSTERIOUS TOBACCO SHOPPE” booth and stopped quickly. I suddenly realized I didn’t have the pipe I borrowed from him. I’
d left it on the podium the previous evening, when Sheryl Homes interrupted my speech.
?Hypno was running some kind of pick through her hair as I approached.
?“Hey, Mark,” John greeted, and indicated the line that waited for me. “Seems like you are pretty popular.”
?“Thanks,” I said. “I’m sorry, I uh—seemed to have left the pipe in my room.”
?“Not a problem,” John dismissed, his one eye on my face and his other aimed in the distance. “I sold the other two I had in stock. But I do have a customer for the third, so bring it to me no later than tomorrow.”
?“I will,” I told him and headed for my line. The first person, a thin, dark-haired young man, watched me sit and pull a pair of pens out of my pocket. “Sorry I kept you waiting.”
?“No problem, Mr. Watkins.”
?“Who should I make it out to?”
