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Fiona laughed and winced before saying to Lori, “Apparently I am.”
“Oh my god,” said Lori happily. “I’m going to go tell everyone. Be prepared for the Mystery Writers’ Murder Club Does a Wedding.”
Lori hurried out as Fiona turned to Slade. “Don’t look now, but you’re about to be bombarded. I suggest that as soon as I’m able, we fly someplace and get married… just the two of us.”
“How does Paris sound?”
Fiona perked up. “Really? I’ve always wanted to go to Paris.”
“Then Paris it is. Just the two of us, or your whole merry band of miscreants if you want. As long as you say ‘I do’ when the officiant asks you, I don’t care where or in what language.”
“So how badly was I hurt?”
“Not as badly as Diane, who is very dead and who kept her trophies from Daniel in the newspaper safe. The bullet came as close to your heart as you’d ever want it to do. It did a lot of damage, but nothing serious or life threatening once they got it out. That was about five days ago. I’m not sure.”
“You haven’t left, have you?”
“Would you have left me?”
“Not a chance. But the bookstore…”
“Not to worry, your cohorts have been taking turns. Did you see all the flowers?”
She looked around her room, which more closely resembled a florist shop. “What is all this?”
“The whole town has rallied around you for support. While you were in surgery, there was a candlelight vigil outside and at least thirty people in the church chapel. Everybody, including Jimmy—who has resigned as Chief—wants you to know how much they love you for solving the mystery and bringing Mike Ryan’s killer to justice. Those who were there are finally freed of thinking they should have done something, and Mike can rest easy.”
“Hey,” said Christie, sticking her head in. “Want to take a guess as to whose book just hit the New York Times’ Best Seller list and is sitting at number one overall in Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and every other retailer under the sun?”
“Oh my god!” cried Fiona. “Go get some champagne. We need to celebrate!” She sobered. “Do you think it has to do with the murder?”
“Who cares?” laughed Christie. “Somebody once said there was no such thing as bad publicity, and they were right.”
“I like that,” said Slade. “No celebration for getting married, but the book hits number one, and we need to party.”
“Get used to it,” advised Christie. “We writers live and die by sales.”
“Besides which,” said Fiona, “we’re going to Paris to get married.”
“We are?” asked Christie, beaming. “I’ll tell the girls.”
Christie left and Fiona laughed, accepting that pain was, for the moment, a part of her life. “You should know that you are not allowed to refer to us as ‘girls.’ That’s a girl’s only kind of thing. And it looks like we’re all going to Paris. I’m sorry. We can blame it on the drugs.”
“Like I said, baby, as long as you’ve got a ring on your finger and say ‘I do’ when asked, it’s all good.”
CHAPTER21
SLADE
It had been a long, hard day. Cleaning up the fall-out from the Mike Ray and Daniel Monkton cases had taken weeks. Normally administration wasn’t his thing and his boss hated to waste the time and skills of one of his best investigators sitting behind the desk, but the town of Angel’s Rise had asked for his assistance, and Slade had informed his boss that he wasn’t ready to return to fieldwork until Fiona was fully recovered.
He had to give it to her friends. They’d done amazing things with the bookstore, the media around her bestselling novel, and the loft itself. Instead of the enclosed stairway, they had arranged for the staircase to be removed and a small, sleek elevator to be installed connecting the bookstore with the loft. No longer would Fiona have to brave the formidable Maine weather to move between her home and the bookstore. While that was nice, Slade was more grateful for the fact that she wouldn’t be exposed to any kind of attack. He wanted her nice and safe, especially when he couldn’t be around.
The elevator and its door were practically silent. The loft was almost dark, as the only light was coming in from the windows and the skylight. For a moment, he wondered if she might have wandered downstairs, but then he heard the soft clicking of the keyboard as her fingers flew across it. Slade smiled. He was sure there were a lot of men who might find it aggravating not having dinner on the table waiting for their return, but he wasn’t one of them. For one thing, Fiona really couldn’t cook, so Slade did it all, and she did all the cleanup.
He was fairly sure he was making enough noise to be heard, but from the way she was sitting, he could tell she was lost in a story, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He walked over to kiss the top of her head and withdraw, but she reached out to stop him.
“Don’t leave. I missed you,” she said, staring fiercely at the computer. “Just a few more words, and I’ll be done.”
