“I’m fine. Thank you for rushing to my aid.”
Zach preened, glancing this way and that to see how many women had witnessed his act of heroism. Unfortunately, the only audience he had was Vicky, and she appeared entirely unimpressed.
“I won’t have much to tell the police,” I said to her.
She shrugged. “No need to worry. I didn’t place the call because there was nothing for me to report. I make it a rule not to jump to conclusions, and once again, it’s proven to be a good rule. It looks like the imminent threat has passed.”
I scowled at Vicky. “That horrible man could be back tomorrow! We need to identify him and be prepared in case he comes back. Where’s Jude? The psychopath had a pitch appointment with him, so we must have a record of his name and contact information.”
This was the type of action Vicky was eager to pursue. She pushed away her chair and stood with the straight-backed discipline of a marine heading to the front lines. “I’ll see to this immediately.”
Zach watched her march away. “What a pistol! The Zachmeister likes her.”
My coworker had a particular way of referring to himself in the third person. Looping his arm through mine, he led me outside. “Come on, we’ll head over to the restaurant for the agency dinner. I found a maintenance guy to deal with the leaks and Vicky can handle the detective work. You and I will order some booze. After today, I could use a tall, frosty mug of Octoberfest ale.”
A drink sounded good to me, too. I was more of a red wine kind of gal, but after my run-in with the stalker in the shadows, I had half a mind to down a shot of whiskey. Or two.
However, by the time Zach and I joined the rest of the agents from Novel Idea at Voltaire’s, Inspiration Valley’s new French restaurant, the frightening experience had lost its edge. It was difficult to concentrate on anything unpleasant inside Voltaire’s. The interior was resplendent with crystal chandeliers, red velvet and gilt chairs, and gold brocade tablecloths. The mirrored walls cast splintered refractions of light onto a ceiling painted with winged cherubim and ethereal celestial goddesses.
I sank into one of the soft chairs and smiled with relief as a waiter placed a napkin on my lap. “Good evening, madam. May I pour you a glass of champagne?”
Bentley gestured at my empty glass. “We’re celebrating the completion of a very successful first day. I am immensely proud of my agents.” She hesitated. “Where are Jude and Vicky? We can hardly have a toast without them.”
“They are searching for the identity of Lila’s crazed writer stalker!” Zach announced and then proceeded to tell Bentley, Flora, and Franklin how he’d scared off a veritable giant in the deserted town hall wing.
After listening to his inflated version of the event, Bentley eyed me curiously. “Perhaps you should mention this incident to your policeman friend, Sam? Or is it Scott?”
Bentley rarely remembered the names of people she had no use for, so I patiently replied, “Sean,” before she could list every name beginning with the letter “S.” “I’ll definitely tell him. And since Officer Griffiths is a guest speaker tomorrow, I’ll certainly feel safer should that…man…return.”
Jude and Vicky arrived at that moment, shrugging out of rain-drenched jackets and easing into the red velvet chairs with the same sigh of relief I’d uttered.
“Well?” Zach demanded excitedly. “What’s the psycho’s name?”
“We’re pretty sure it’s Kirk Mason,” Jude answered. “He was booked for my last pitch session of the day, but in the confusion of the leaking ceiling, everyone cleared the room and I didn’t actually meet with him.”
Vicky fiddled with her silverware until the forks, knives, and spoons were perfectly aligned. After taking a prim sip from her water goblet, she said, “We’re tardy because I wanted to review Mr. Mason’s registration form. He paid by check—a cashier’s check, I assume, considering the address he provided is incomplete. The street is missing. He only filled in the state and a zip code.”
“Then Kirk Mason could be a pseudonym?” Flora’s eyes widened. “Oh, this sounds like a Nancy Drew novel!”
The other agents gave Flora an indulgent smile.
“No offense, Flora,” I said, “but I’d prefer to have Sam Spade by my side should Mr. Mason come back to the festival tomorrow.”