I didn’t appreciate the sudden interrogation.I realized that these were the questions Finn should have—would have—asked earlier, but he’d been rattled.I hadn’t recognized it at the time.He, too, was good at hiding his emotions.
Finn circled back, repeated, “Cuts on his hands?Torn fingernails?Bruises on his face?Did he have a bloody nose?Swollen lip?”
“It was a long time ago, Finn,” I protested.
“You won’t have forgotten what his face looked like,” he said with absolute certainty.
He was right.I did remember.
I said, “There was crusted blood beneath his nostrils.His upper lip was cut.”
“What about his hands?”
“I don’t remember that his knuckles were swollen.I think there were a couple of nicks.Not actual cuts, no obvious bruising.”
“What about Milo?Besides the bruising around his throat.What other injuries did he sustain?”
“His knuckles were swollen.I do remember that because it hurt him to flex his hand.He was afraid he’d broken a finger.He had trouble with the shovel.I don’t think his face was bruised.But he didn’t claim Dom punched him.He said Dom tried to strangle him, and there were dark marks on his throat.I could see the outline of fingers.He didn’t lie about that.”
“It doesn’t sound like it.What do you think Milo was doing in the cemetery?April on the coast is cold and damp.You were home in bed, so he wasn’t there fooling around with you.”
“He went there to drink sometimes.”
Finn nodded, cocked his head, and asked curiously, “How do you think Dominic knew to find Milo in the cemetery that night?”
Chapter Eighteen
“Fourteen years ago, Keiran Chandler, senior editor at the boutique publishing company Millbrook House, began his career in publishing as an intern reading the slush pile at Wheaton & Woodhouse.”
The audience laughed at conference organizer Deb Rivera’s introduction.
“In addition to founding Millbrook House’s prestigious Prime Crime line, Keiran is the architect behind the Inkwell Award, establishing Millbrook House’s commitment to nurturing emerging mystery authors.His enviable list includes numerous award-winning and bestselling authors including Finn Scott, Kyle Bari, Danica Dassault, Jo-Jo Bakewell, and Christopher Holmes.Please welcome Keiran Chandler.”
I couldn’t help wishing Deb hadn’t mentioned Christopher Holmes.Since he still wasn’t officially on my list, that was liable to be a sore spot with Lila, who was sitting front and center in the first row.But it was a very nice introduction and I got a generous round of applause as I made my way onto the stage and took the armchair opposite Rudolph.
Rudoph smiled with mischievous warmth and winked.I smiled back, adjusted the nearest of the matte black microphones positioned between us.
The ballroom was standing-room only.But interviews and panels with editors were always standing-room only.Even in the era of self-publishing, we were still perceived by many as guardians of the gate, stingily clutching the keys to the magic kingdom.That wasn’t entirely untrue, but there were many more kingdoms now.And fewer gates.
“Good afternoon and welcome to this year’s installment of Backstory,” Rudolph began in his smooth cultured voice.“For those of you unfamiliar, this is our nineteenth annual chat with an editor acknowledged by their peers to be a leader within our industry.Today, that someone is my good friend, the esteemed Keiran Chandler.”
Murmurs of approval and another round of applause rippled through the room.I gave a wry grin.
“Say hello,” Rudolph prompted.
I said, “Good afternoon.I know half of you think I exist to crush your dreams, and the other half think I can magically make them come true.The truth, as always, lies somewhere in between.”
Rudolph smiled faintly, and asked, “Keiran, I’ve been dying to ask—what went wrong in your life that made you want to be an editor?”
This was the same question he started every Backstory interview with, but it never failed to get a round of laughter.
I said gravely, “Sadly, I failed to make it as a violinist.Editing had fewer splinters.”
It got a bigger laugh than it deserved.
“Come to think of it, thereisa lot of violin-playing in publishing.”Rudolph mimed playing a tiny violin, and I laughed.
In fact, everyone laughed.Rudolph was rightfully one of the most beloved figures in our industry.