Page 143 of Without a Clue

“Of course he has, honey,” says a woman with a tint of blue in her silvery hair. “Ten o’clock on the dot. Hugh’s Nightly Special.”

Somebody elbows the woman in the ribs with a specific look my way. “That’s Penelope Dupont,” she hisses.

The woman in blue looks up sharply. “Although . . . I don’t know . . . precisely. I just got here . . .”

Seriously?

They’re in on it too?

EVERYBODY’S IN ON IT?!

“What has he been doing?” I say. “Just singing?”

“Well, and the workshops—”

She gets elbowed again and amends, “But I couldn’t be sure.”

I roll my neck. Face Nash. “Oh my gosh. That’s why I didn’t get a thousand angry emails. He told everyone to just not talk to me. I mean, I emailed everyone that he was ill, but still, I knew that was weird. People aren’t that considerate when it comes to money. Dozens of demands should have come through for a refund. You know what? I bent over backwards the past week working to find replacement authors for those workshops and have them call in. I pulled a dozen big, huge strings. And here he was all this time, giving workshops and a show.”

“It’s fine to ask for favors.”

“I begged Trudy Louis, Nash. Like on my knees begged. On FaceTime.”

Nash tucks in his lower lip to keep from smiling.

I swing back to the dinner party of ladies.

“Tell me something. Did he tell you not to talk to me? What’d he say, exactly?”

The blue-haired lady opens her mouth, but the one with the crab legs smacks her and interjects. “He’s right up there, sweetie. If you’ve got questions, you just need to ask him yourself.”

“Oh, believe me, I will.”

I straighten.

Hugh’s blue eyes meet mine now. They positively twinkle as he carries on singing his tune.

Does he not fear me?

At all?

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the rest of the gang.

Neena calls to me, but I flash her a deeply intense glare, the kind of glare that says Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be talking to you five in a second, and zero back in on Hugh.

He puts a hand up.

The music stops.

“And for our workshop finale in this greatest and most highly anticipated book tour, I’d like to invite up our special guest to help us finish our time together. Ladies and gentlemen, the woman we’ve all been waiting for,” Hugh announces. “Let’s give a round of applause.”

Claps go around the room, and he puts out a hand to help me onstage. I pointedly don’t take it and pull myself up.

“I should be ripping that microphone out of your hand and hitting you on the head with it,” I snap.

The room stills.

It’s just me and Hugh in the circular blue spotlight onstage.