“Did you ever find out who donated all that money?” Dad asks.
Sebastian reaches out for a second helping of beef stroganoff. “The donor wants to remain anonymous.”
The hair on my neck starts to tingle.
Now that was a sidestep if I ever heard one. Sebastian didn’t lie, but my Spidey sense tells me that my brother knows exactly who donated the money. Which I suppose makes sense since someone would have to know. Unless the money just showed up, but I can’t imagine anyone leaving a huge bag of cash on the church doorstep.
My brain starts to go into overdrive.
Who in Whispering Bay is rich enough to donate six figures to the church? Once this whole Tara thing is over, maybe I’ll concentrate on solving this. Not that I would reveal the source of an anonymous donation. But it would be kind of fun to see if I can figure out this puzzle.
“Guess who I ran into at the Piggly Wiggly?” asks Mom.
Considering Whispering Bay has a population of roughly ten thousand, I’m guessing it could be any one of the nine thousand plus other people not at the table right now.
“Who?” I ask, playing along.
“Betty Jean.” There’s a pause. “She invited me to join her book club.”
“Oh, she did, did she?”
Sebastian lays down his fork. “You turned her down, right?”
“Well … ”
“I thought you said you’d never join her book club on account of how she kicked out your own flesh and blood,” I say.
“But that was before. Darling, she wants you back! And … well, she’s promised me that she’s going to get J.W. Quicksilver to attend a meeting.” Mom’s voice hitches with excitement. “Can you imagine? A novelist with his kind of clout here in little old Whispering Bay!”
“Betty Jean can promise all she wants,” says Dad, “but that doesn’t mean she’s going to get him.”
“I have to agree with Dad. I wouldn’t get my hopes up too much on that score. He’s a pretty big name and from what I’ve read, kind of a recluse.”
“I just finished the first book in his spy series, Assassin’s Blood,” announces Brittany.
“Really?” I’m surprised because it doesn’t seem like Brittany’s kind of book.
“The last time I had dinner here, you were all talking about him, so I was curious. And since so many people in town are fans of his, I felt like it was essential that I read him too. Part of being the chamber of commerce PR person is to stay in touch with the pulse of the community. And if Betty Jean Collins can get a national best-selling author like him to attend one of her book club meetings, I’m going to try to persuade him to do a book signing. It would be great exposure for the library. What do you think, Will?”
Everyone stops eating to listen to his answ
er. It’s no secret that Will thinks J.W. Quicksilver is a hack.
“I think George is right. If this J.R. Quicksilver doesn’t do signings or attend book club meetings, he probably won’t start doing it now. No matter how many emails Betty Jean sends him.”
“Will!” Mom chides. “You can never get his name right. It’s J.W., not J.R.”
“Sorry,” he says, but I don’t miss the tease in his blue eyes. I’m positive now that Will has read J.W.’s books. And I’m going to get him to admit it.
I turn to Brittany. “What did you think of the book?”
“Well … it certainly had some exciting bits, but honestly, just between us, he’s not a very good writer. That is to say,” she rushes to add diplomatically, “his style just isn’t for me. I guess I’m a bit of a book snob. Like Will, I prefer classic literature.” She beams at Will, looking for support.
But Will doesn’t say anything. Instead he calmly reaches out for his wineglass and takes a sip.
“I think he’s got a really great voice,” I say. “Sure, he’s no F. Scott Fitzgerald, but I don’t think that’s what he’s going for anyway.”
“I agree, Lucy. I think he’s really talented,” says Dad. “If Betty Jean can persuade him to come to town, more power to her. I just wouldn’t hold my breath, is all.”