Free Don't Go Home by Carolyn Hart Page A

trying to keep him from writing a book that would outsell
Don’t Go Home
.”
    â€œI thought you organized tonight’s event.”
    A slight whistle of sound, a sigh. “I set up everything for Alex. I do—I did—publicity and talked to booksellers, everything he needed. He was stubborn. He went his own way. I knew he was going to go ahead no matter what I said, so I thought I’d get it done, we’d get past the evening, and maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as I imagined.”
    That accounted for Rae’s odd manner when she came to Deathon Demand Monday. She was doing what her husband asked. She opposed the plan, but she did as he asked.
    Her voice was thin, strained, hollow. “I didn’t want to come to the island. I told him from the first that I didn’t think that kind of book worked and he was going to upset a lot of people. He didn’t care.” A pause. “That makes him sound mean. He wasn’t mean. But he didn’t feel things. I guess I should have known that from the first, the way he never got in touch with his family, didn’t talk about them. But we were having fun and were busy and I didn’t think about it. He always liked to watch people. He watched and listened and was able to take what he saw and write this raw, hot story. He wrote with incredible power. I think he was able to write that way because everything was true. That’s why he couldn’t just write another book. All he could write was what he knew. So he came back to see—” She broke off.
    â€œIf the animals would provide enough misery for a best seller.” Billy spoke with no emphasis. “Can you tell me who he threatened?”
    Annie moved forward. She had learned what mattered to her. Marian wasn’t a suspect yet. Perhaps Rae knew the source of the characters. Perhaps she didn’t. In any event, Annie didn’t want to know more than she had guessed from her reading of
Don’t Go Home.
She wanted to deliver Joan’s message and walk swiftly across the terrace and hurry to her car, sever her connection to Alex Griffith, keep her promise to Max.

4
    O fficer Hyla Harrison nodded her thanks. “This will do for a start.” She pocketed her pencil, held a small notebook in her hand.
    The night clerk was college age, likely thrilled to land a summer job enhanced by sun, surf, and sand. At the moment, rounded, fearful brown eyes stared from a plump face. The girl swallowed. “I’m scared.”
    Hyla appraised her with clear green eyes. “I won’t say there is never danger to bystanders when a murder has been committed. But the suite did not appear to be ransacked. There was no evidence of disarray. The position of the body indicates the victim wasn’t expecting an attack, which suggests he knew his attacker.” Aware the clerk hung on every word, she added in a reassuring tone, “Barring drug deals and gang violence, most murders are committed by someone known to a victim. This appears to be the case here, which meansit’s unlikely a deranged killer threatens danger to ordinary people. Did you know the victim?”
    The girl shook her head violently, short brown hair rippling.
    â€œI wouldn’t worry, then.” Hyla turned and walked swiftly across the lobby. As always, she looked about her as she moved, noting who was near, attitude, appearance, posture, expression. She saw nothing out of the ordinary, though obviously most of the guests had heard there was a problem and eyed her with sharp interest.
    She walked past the central stairway and into the hallway of shops. When she reached the east wing, she paused in thought for an instant. The nearer the scene of the crime, the likelier something interesting might have been observed by a fellow guest. She walked to the end of the corridor, knocked on the door of 128, next to the Griffith corner suite. She glanced at her pad. The clerk had given her the names