Past, Present And A Future. Janice Carter

but any similarities are entirely coincidental.” He raised his head, frowning. “Sounds like something a lawyer wrote, doesn’t it?”

      Perhaps because one did, Clare was thinking. Suddenly she was no longer hungry. She wanted to leave, but she also wanted to clarify her point. “I—”

      He interrupted, “Do you think there’s a possibility someone here in Twin Falls might find something too close to truth in the book?”

      Clare set her fork down. “What are you getting at?”

      He leaned forward, fixing his eyes on hers. He was no longer making notes, but the tape recorder whirred away. “Here’s my point. The novel centers around the death of a friend of the heroine’s. The death is ruled accidental, but there’s ambiguity about the finding that has a profound effect on the main character. What was her name again? Kenzie?”

      Clare nodded. She knew where he was going now.

      “And the death eventually results in Kenzie’s leaving forever the town where she grew up. Kind of a Paradise Lost idea. Right?”

      Clare checked her watch, wondering when there’d be an opportunity to leave. “That’s part of the story, yes.”

      He leaned further across the table. The eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses glimmered. “And isn’t that what happened to you, right here in Twin Falls, seventeen years ago? When your friend was murdered and your boyfriend accused of the crime?”

      “As I’ve already told you, what happens in my novel is fiction. And Rina Thomas was a classmate, rather than a friend. I’m sorry but I have to go.” Clare stood up.

      Startled, he pulled back from the table. “But your lunch.”

      “Let me pay my share.”

      He rose from his chair. “No, no. The boss is paying. Listen, could you spare five more minutes? I just want to explore the idea of your novel being based on the Thomas case.”

      “If you want to discuss my book, fine. However, if your real purpose in talking to me is to discuss something that happened many years ago in Twin Falls, then I’m sorry, I can’t help you. You’ll have to go to the police for that.” She started to move away.

      “But the two stories are not so very different, are they?”

      “The novel is drawn loosely on my childhood experiences and observations growing up in a small town. I’m sorry but I can’t spell it out any other way. Any similarities are—”

      “Entirely coincidental,” he finished, quoting from the preface. “But off the record, Miss Morgan, which parts are not coincidental?”

      “It’s all fiction, Mr. Withers. Goodbye,” she said and walked out the door. She brushed past a handful of people lined up to get inside and marched straight to her hotel, a brisk five minutes away.

      It wasn’t until she was safely locked inside her room that she sank into a chair and succumbed to the trembling that began the instant she left Mitzi’s.

      CHAPTER THREE

      SHE HAD TIMED HER entrance perfectly. Laura and Dave were just sitting down at their table, and judging by the half-finished glass of wine in front of Gil, Clare figured he’d arrived a bit early. She handed her coat to the host and walked toward them, pleased that she had avoided a few moments alone with Gil—something she’d worried about on her walk to the restaurant.

      “Clare! You look ravishing,” Dave enthused, standing to greet her. “Doesn’t she, Laura?”

      “Now that she’s a celebrity, she has an image to keep up, right, Clare?” Laura winked.

      The spotlight wasn’t really what she’d been seeking, but Clare struck a pose, hoping she didn’t look as awkward as she felt. She cocked her head, her shoulder-length hair swaying to one side, and scanned the room. “What? No paparazzi?” she demanded, smiling. She gave Dave a quick hug and bent down to give Laura a peck on the cheek.

      Gil had stood at her arrival as well and was pulling out the chair beside his. Clare hesitated, then acknowledged him with a nod of her head. “Gil,” she mumbled and sat down. As he pushed the chair in, his hand brushed across her shoulders and the instant tingle distracted her enough that she missed Laura’s next remark.

      “I said,” Laura repeated seeing the blank look on Clare’s face, “that I love your dress. Is it silk?”

      “Yes. A celebration splurge.”

      “It’s stunning,” Laura went on. “Those earth tones are wonderful with your hair and complexion. Whenever you move, they seem to shimmer in different shades of brown and gold.”

      “More like copper,” Gil added.

      “Since when were you such a fashion connoisseur?” asked Dave, grinning across the table.

      “I know my colors as well as the next guy,” Gil said, grinning. He turned toward Clare. “Laura’s right. The dress is perfect for you.”

      His smile was sincere, Clare thought, but the intense expression in his eyes unreadable. She suddenly felt uncomfortable and gave him a quick smile that felt lopsided, then turned her head toward Laura. “Who’s looking after Emma tonight?”

      “My mother. She and Dad are heading off to Florida Monday morning so she wanted to spend more time with her.”

      “Will they stay in Florida the whole winter?”

      “They usually do. Though this year, they might brave the weather and come back for Christmas. Unless we go there,” Laura said, casting a quick glance at Dave.

      A shadow crossed his face. Obviously, he didn’t want to discuss the matter right then. Clare quickly said, “Well, wherever you end up, Christmas will be special this year because of Emma.”

      “You’re right, Clare. Emma’s what matters,” Laura said, giving Dave a pointed look.

      A waiter arrived with sparkling wine and four glasses. “I hope you don’t mind,” Gil said. “I ordered it just before you arrived. Thought the occasion required a toast.”

      When the wine was poured, Gil raised his glass. “To Laura, Dave and baby Emma.”

      “And let’s not forget old friends,” Dave said.

      The waiter came to recite the specials and for the next few minutes, attention was devoted to the menu. Once their orders were taken, Dave broke the silence by asking Clare how the book signing had gone.

      “Fine, though I wonder if I’ll ever get used to these things.”

      “You better,” Laura said. “I’ve a feeling there are many more in your future.”

      “There was quite a crowd at the store,” Gil added.

      “You went?” Laura asked.

      “Sure. Got to support the local talent, right?”

      Laura’s glance switched from Gil to Clare. But if her friend was looking for some sign of how the encounter had turned out, Clare wasn’t cooperating. She met Laura’s gaze with impassivity and abruptly changed the subject to her interview with Jeff Withers.

      “That guy!” Dave grimaced when Clare mentioned the reporter’s name.

      “Why?” Clare asked, suddenly worried about the interview.

      “He’s one of those sensationalist reporters. You know the kind—knocking on the doors of families who’ve just suffered a devastating loss. He’s good at pulling the emotional strings of his readers.”

      Clare understood then Withers’s dogged insistence on focusing on the Rina Thomas case, rather than her novel. For the second time that day, she regretted the interview.

      “So how did it go?” Gil asked.

      She