Page 66 of Kill Your Darlings

“Oh, God,” I said in alarm.

“No!It wasbrilliant.I wish you’d been there.After the banquet, we all went down to the lobby bar andourart department andW&W’sart department started doing shots in your honor.”

I stared at her in horror.

“Really,” Cherry insisted.“You’re a hero.You’reourhero.”

I widened my eyes at her and made the time-honored gesture forshut up.Exceptthatgesture is one of zipping the lips and I did a slashing motion across my neck.No wonder she looked confused.

The spindly youth giggled.

We reached the second floor where most of the panels were being held.Everyone scooched over, making way for Thomas McGregor, before piling out in his wake.

“Should we liaison?”Cherry turned back to ask, blocking the doors from closing.

“Huh?”

“Like yesterday.Did you want to get together to go over some things?Is there anything I should know about today?”

“Uh… I’ll send you my notes later.Just, you know, carry on.”

“Do you need me for your Backstory interview?”

“My— Sure.Bring smelling salts.”

She laughed.“And a shot of bourbon?”

“Exactly.”I made a little shooing motion, she stepped back, and the doors closed.

I pressed the button for going up again, pressed it desperately, but of course it had to finish its descent into the bowels of hell.

On the first floor, the doors slid open and Hayes Hartman stepped inside.

So, in fact, I reallyhaddescended to the bowels of hell.

Hayes stared at me with his glittery blue eyes and took his cell phone out.

I didn’t have the energy for Mr.Hartman, but I also couldn’t get behind the adolescent rudeness of pretending another person wasn’t standing three feet away.

I said, “Congratulations on the Edgar.”

Hayes gave a short laugh.“Thanks.”He continued to stare at his phone.

I said, “Hayes, have I done something to offend you?”

He made a wondering expression and theatrically gasped, “Gosh.What could you have done, Keiran?”

“I honestly don’t know.Have we even met before?”

He glared.“You don’t remember Bouchercon in New Orleans?”

“I remember Bouchercon in New Orleans.”

“But you don’t remember me?”

“I—”Nowas clearly the wrong answer.DidI remember him?Maybe he’d looked different?People changed.Granted, B’con NO had only been two years ago.

I was still trying to think of a diplomatic way to saynot really, when he demanded, “You don’t remember holding one-on-one feedback sessions?”

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