Stranger Danger (Lucy McGuffin, Psychic Amateur Detective 4)

I’m a little less angry now, so I concentrate on what he just said. He’s right. This doesn’t make sense. “So, what’s his angle?”

“I have no idea,” he says grimly. “Other than to get his jollies pretending he’s me.”

“You have to admit, being you is pretty awesome. Did you see all those people out there? They’re here because of you, Will. Because of the books you write. You should be the one out there reading your book out loud and getting applause. Not that … Dougal MacKenzie wannabe.”

He snickers at my Outlander reference. “Can you believe that phony accent?”

“You think it’s phony?”

“It’s about as real as the Loch Ness monster. The thing is, what’s he up to? He has to know he’ll get caught.”

“How? Unless the real J.W. Quicksilver comes forward. Did you see how sneaky he was? Requesting that no one take pictures?”

“That doesn’t guarantee anything. What’s to stop someone from taking a picture and posting it online? Or telling the world on Facebook that they’ve met J.W. Quicksilver in the flesh?”

Will has a point. In this day of social media, there’s no way this guy is going to get away with this scam. “I need to talk to him. Maybe I can ferret out what he’s up to.”

“You’ll do that?”

“Yes, but you have to promise to tell Betty Jean the truth. You need to go to her book club meeting tomorrow night as yourself and schmooze up to everyone. Sign books. Answer questions. Pet Betty’s Jean’s cat. It’s the only way you can make up for tonight’s fiasco.”

He tries to hide his smile. “Betty Jean has a cat?”

“I have no idea. But if she does, you’ll do it. And anything else she asks. Within reason,” I add quickly, because let’s face it, this is Betty Jean we’re talking about.

“Okay. You’re right. I’ll go to Betty Jean’s and tell everyone I’m the real J.W. Quicksilver.”

I heave a sigh of relief. “Thank God you’ve come to your senses.” Will still looks miserable, so on impulse, I reach out and hug him.

The door to the storage room flies open, and we jump apart like a couple of guilty teenagers.

Travis stands in the doorway. “What’s going on? I looked over and saw you pull Cunningham into the closet.”

“I … it’s a storage room, not a closet,” I clarify. “We were discussing, um, what kind of muffins I should bring to the book club meeting tomorrow night.”

Ack. This is so lame.

I glance between both men. Travis and Will are staring each other down like they’re ready to reenact the gunfight at the O.K. Corral. Over me?

I brush past Travis. “What’s the line situation?”

“It’s moving along,” he says, still scowling. “I was standing behind a guy in a tweed suit and glasses. He’s holding your place.”

“You’re not coming with me?”

“I’ll join you in a minute. I want to have a word with Cunningham first.”

Will grunts in agreement.

Oh, boy. The last thing I want is to leave these two alone, but I have no choice. Travis is right. The line is moving at a nice pace, and I can’t miss this opportunity to have a talk with the fake J.W.

I weave my way back into the line, which is mostly composed of familiar faces, but there are more than a few people I’ve never seen before. Tourists, probably. It’s not hard to find the gentleman Travis described. He’s maybe in his mid-sixties, bald, and gives off a strong ex-professor vibe.

“Excuse me,” I say. “My friend says you were saving my place in line?”

He nods pleasantly. “You must be Lucy. He didn’t want you to lose your spot.”

“Great reading, huh?”