said, shaking her head with a sad smile. "This could have been my retirement tour. But now… Guess I better check in with my office and see if there are any reality TV stars who are peddling their sex tapes."
She finished off her second mimosa before our breakfasts arrived. I needed to get more information from her before she was too far into that champagne flute. I pulled my iPad out of my bag and opened up the photos from the event.
"Do you know who this man is? The young guy with the dark hair. It looks like you're talking with him here," I said.
Karen dug in her purse for a pair of reading glasses and then focused on the screen. "Sure, that's Gibson Knox, Cal's ghostwriter."
"You mean Cal didn't write his own book?"
Karen laughed and removed the glasses. "Oh, hell no. Cal could barely write his own name."
"What was Gibson Knox doing at the reading?"
"No idea. I was shocked that he'd shown up. I told him he had to go. He's supposed to be, you know, a ghost. Invisible. Not at the book tour, especially."
I didn't know much about ghostwriting, but my understanding was that there were strict confidentiality clauses in the contracts.
"Wouldn't that break his contract to take credit for writing the book?" I asked.
"I can't imagine Gib wanted credit. He hated Cal. They had a huge blowup before the book was finished, and Cal fired him."
"What did they fight about?"
Karen shook her head. "The publisher might know, but Cal never told me."
"Do you have any idea why Mr. Knox would come here?"
The waiter brought us two steaming plates of breakfast, including my favorite Seattle Dutch baby piled high with apples, but my appetite was still AWOL.
Karen shrugged and stabbed at her eggs. "No clue. I've only met the man a couple times, and both times it was to tell him to stay away from my client."
"When was the first time?"
"What?" She stuffed her fork into her mouth, and I wondered if she was avoiding answering my question.
"You said you met him a couple times. Once at the bookstore. But when was the first time?"
She chewed and then took a sip of the mimosa. "Oh yes. It was in Los Angeles. I was meeting Cal to go over the arrangements for the book tour, and Gibson showed up at Cal's house. Cal wouldn't see him. Refused to come out and talk to him. He had me go tell Gibson to leave him alone."
I looked over the publicist—in her late 50s, not much taller than me, and the sort of slim build that comes from years of mimosa breakfasts and cigarette lunches. She wasn't the person I'd turn to for muscle.
"Was he stalking Cal? Did he say why he was there?"
She shook her head. "No, he just said that it was a personal matter. But Cal wasn't having any of that."
"When you saw him in the bookstore, did he say why he came to Danger Cove or to the bookstore?"
Karen shook her head, her short brown hair swinging. "No, and I just wanted him gone. Cal would have had a meltdown if he'd seen Gibson Knox at his event, and that would have gotten ugly fast."
It had gotten ugly, but I didn't remind her of that. While the two men had a history of fighting, and Gibson Knox was at least in the neighborhood around the time of the murder, that didn't necessarily mean he shot Cal Montague. But it was a place to start.
"Did you tell the police about Gibson Knox showing up?"
"No, I actually didn't think about it. Their questions were pretty cursory. They seemed more interested in Cal's whereabouts on the day of his murder."
"I don't suppose you've seen Gibson since the murder?"
She sighed and shook her head. "No, sorry."
I tried a bite of the breakfast, and my appetite made a hesitant return. Gibson Knox had opportunity and motive to kill Cal. More than I did. That would have to help me get off the police's radar.
"Do you know where Cal was before the bookstore event?" I asked, taking another big bite of the sweet apples piled on top of the Dutch baby.
Karen shook her head. "Cal didn't keep me informed on his personal issues," she said
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