Maybe he’s waiting for this guy to sink himself, only he doesn’t. It’s amazing how he manages to answer each question with just enough details to sound credible. How long has he been rehearsing this? I take it back again. This fake J.W. isn’t just dangerous; he’s a sociopath.
“We have time for one more question,” says Brittany as she scans the upraised hands in the audience. “Oh! Let’s hear from our very own head librarian.” She points him out to Anita, who hands the mic over to Will.
; Finally. I thought this would come sooner in the evening, but leave it to Will to wait until the last minute for maximum drama. I can hear him now. In a scene straight from Spartacus, he’ll calmly pronounce, “I’m J.W. Quicksilver!” I can’t wait to hear Mr. Highlander try to wiggle his way out of that one.
We wait for Will to say something, but he’s silent.
The audience turns around to look at him. Will is staring at “J.W.” with the same cold blue gaze as before. I’m starting to get twitchy. Do it! I scream inside. Tell everyone that you’re the real J.W. Quicksilver!
The audience begins to shuffle nervously in their seats. Everyone is getting the impression that something isn’t right.
“Well, man,” drawls the fake J.W. “Spit it out. I canna answer a question unless you ask one.”
Laughter sweeps through the room, causing Will’s face to go red. “No question,” he says tightly. “I just want to thank you for taking time from your busy schedule to come here tonight.”
“It’s been my pleasure,” says the fake J.W., oblivious that he’s addressing the very man he’s impersonating.
Will hands the mic back to Anita.
Wait. That’s it?
Brittany adds her thanks and instructs everyone who wants to purchase J.W.’s latest book to form a line to the right. I want to shout at the top of my lungs that they aren’t getting an authentic J.W. Quicksilver autograph, but of course, I can’t do that.
“Aren’t you getting in line, Lucy?” asks Travis, shaking me out of my stupor.
“Maybe. When it dies down a little.” I want to talk to this guy and see if I can figure out what his deal is, but more importantly, I need to talk to Will. “These heels are killing me. I’m not sure I’m up to standing in them for the next hour.” Which isn’t exactly a lie.
“I can hold your place in line for you,” he offers.
“Really? You’d do that for me?”
“Sure. I have to admit, after listening to the guy, I’m intrigued. I might just have to buy a book for myself.”
This is getting worse by the second. Betty Jean, sure. Shirley and the rest of the audience, understandable. But if someone as sharp as Travis can be taken in by this con man, then this town is in trouble.
I glance around the room at the few scattered persons who aren’t in line and spy Will over by the bar. “Thanks. I’m going to take you up on your offer while I get a refill on my drink.”
I head over to the bar, where Will is staring down into his glass like he’s just lost his best friend. Which might very well happen if he doesn’t man up soon. I liked angry Will better than this dejected version.
“What happened?” I hiss. “I thought you were going to tell everyone who you were.”
“Not here, Lucy.”
Not here? Then where? And when? I want to scream.
I glance over to see a familiar-looking door. If the layout of this place hasn’t changed since my high school days, I’m pretty sure it leads to a storage room. Before he can protest, I grab Will by the elbow and drag him into the room, shutting the door firmly behind us.
Chapter Five
I flip on the lights. Good. The storage room is just I as remembered. No one will bother us in here.
“What are you doing?” Will asks, wild-eyed.
“What am I doing? What are you doing? What happened to telling everyone the truth?” I point to the door. “There’s a con man out there impersonating you, and now he’s taking money for a book he didn’t write and signing your pen name to them. Don’t you care?”
Will shoves a hand through his hair. “He must have bought those books off Amazon or ordered a bunch of copies from some other online site.” He looks me in the eye. “He isn’t making money off them. He would have to pay retail for those copies. And even if he didn’t, he could make what? Maybe a few hundred dollars selling them? It makes no sense.”