e9c12ac8d703d9a536f23183edf8b22c

“Almost as if it’s autobiographical,” Marge finished, and the moment she spoke the words, she regretted them, for a hard look appeared on the woman’s face.

“Look, I’m not here to discuss my book,” she said, her voice clipped and her demeanor businesslike. “I saw on the news that the Pink Diamond was found on the beach yesterday, and I was hoping to talk to the person who found it.”

“Oh, but that wasn’t me,” said Marge, wondering why an author would resent discussing her work. Then again, writers are a strange breed, of course. Maybe she’d once wrote it and now regretted it. Or it reminded her of a time in her life she’d rather forget.

“No, I know it wasn’t you,” said Miss Gray. “But I called the TV station and they said they couldn’t divulge the identity of the finder—even though they interviewed her live on the air—and so I asked if I could speak to someone with knowledge of the situation, and they referred me to the Mayor. But when I called Town Hall, a secretary said the Mayor couldn’t take my call, since she was busy, and referred me to the police station. And when I called there…”

“They foisted you off, too.”

“So I asked the woman who answered my call if she could put me in touch with Olivia Wynn, the little girl who found the diamond, or if there was anyone in this town who would talk to me about what happened, and she gave me your name. She literally said, ‘If there’s anything you want to know about what goes on in Hampton Cove, you gotta talk to Marge Poole. She’s the town librarian, and we all know what librarians are like: a bunch of nosy busybodies!’” She smiled. “I wouldn’t have put it that way, but in a sense she does have a point, however crudely expressed. When I was little and I had a difficult school assignment or an essay to write, the librarian was always the first person my mom told me to go and see.”

“And did it work?” asked Marge, happy that the initial awkwardness between them had dissipated.

“Sure. We had a very nice librarian in the town I grew up in. Her name was Hildegarde Procak, and she always had all the answers. Of course my questions were probably not that difficult, since I was only nine.”

“Oh, but you would be surprised by how difficult kids’ questions can be,” Marge said with a laugh.

“So what can you tell me about the Pink Lady?” asked the authoress.

“I’m afraid I don’t know all the details. Only that the diamond was found on the beach yesterday, quite by accident, by a little girl who was playing in the sand with her little brother—”

“Olivia Wynn.”

“See? I didn’t even know that. All I know is she gave it to her mom, who immediately realized this was not a piece of colored glass and took it to a jeweler in town to have it appraised.”

“And the jeweler recognized it as a precious stone and called the police,” said the woman with a nod. “Any idea how a diamond like the Pink Lady ended up on a beach in the Hamptons?”

“No idea,” said Marge truthfully. “But if I may ask: why are you so interested in this diamond? Is it connected with your book?” She held up her copy of The Sheikh’s Passion. And watched as the author immediately stiffened again.

“No, nothing to do with the book,” she said, almost snappishly, as if Marge had said the wrong thing. Then she abruptly turned on her heel and strode back to her car. But before she opened the door, she seemed to have a change of heart, and returned on her steps. “Do you… do you know where the diamond is now?”

“No idea,” Marge lied. Convincingly, she hoped.

The woman nodded, then shrugged and plastered an unconvincing smile on her face.“Oh, well,” she said. “At least it was found. That’s the main thing.” And she started to walk away again.

“Wait,” said Marge, then realized that the question she wanted to ask the woman probably would go unanswered, but decided to ask it anyway. “Do you… the book you wrote, it’s real, isn’t it? It all happened the way you describe.”

“No,” said the woman after a moment’s hesitation. “No, I just…” She seemed on the verge of saying something, but then thought better of it. “I have a very vivid imagination, and the story of the Pink Lady simply captured that imagination, that’s all. It’s fiction, Mrs. Poole, nothing more. You being a librarian should recognize a piece of fiction when you see it.”

“Oh,” said Marge, feeling slightly disappointed.

She watched as the authoress got back into her car, and quickly drove off.

12

Dinner that night was a collective affair, with the entire Poole clan gathered around the table, set up outside on the deck.

Odelia and Chase were there, of course, and Marge and Tex and Gran, but also Uncle Alec, along with his girlfriend Charlene, and even Scarlett had decided to drop by and keep us company. So it was safe to say that things proceeded in a lively way, as they usually do when the entire extended family comes together to share a nice meal.