More Bitter Than Death: An Emma Fielding Mystery - By Dana Cameron Page 0,28

too serious around here.”

“Like that’s a problem. I’ve gotta run, I want to get down to the session a little early to introduce myself,” I said. “Later, guys.”

“Knock ’em dead, Em,” Lissa called after me.

I waved and headed for the partitioned ballroom where I found Scott pacing once again at the back of the meeting space. He was so big and the space so small that he could have used a tug boat.

“Good, Chris found you?” he said. He was wearing a blue rosette that said “President.” It might as well have been a target.

“Yep. No sign of Garrison?” I asked.

“Nope.” Scott’s pen was clicking away like mad. “He’s always done this, decides that he’s not bothered, or uninterested, or that this is all beneath him, or is off staring at dust motes or something. But you’d think this once, he’d cut it out.”

I shrugged. “If he shows up, I’ll hand it over to him.”

Suddenly, a burden had tumbled off his back and the sun broke through the clouds. “Thanks, Em. I appreciate it. I’ll get you a drink later.”

“You can get me two drinks later; I was supposed to be taking it easy this weekend,” I groused. “Half the reason I worked so hard to get off the board was to get out of getting up so early.”

He smiled broadly, knowing that I was only kidding, and I remembered why we were friends. “Okay, two drinks. The good stuff. You’re a peach.”

I find it absurdly sweet when Scott calls me a peach, for some reason. Maybe it’s the novelty of the name, which is so old-fashioned, maybe it’s Scott himself, who really did work hard to make things come out right for everyone. Scott left to see if he could locate Garrison—again—and I introduced myself to the members of the session. Since I was just there to keep time and introduce folks, I didn’t have to say anything particularly clever, which was good, because the session was on European tobacco pipe manufacturers. While, like every good archaeologist, I have a set of drill bits in my bag—to measure the diameter of the pipe stem bores to get an idea of the manufacturing date—any further expertise was limited to where to get started looking in the library. Maybe I’d pick up something edifying today.

After I checked in with the presenters and made sure they were all ready and accounted for, I explained to the audience that I’d be moderating instead of Dr. Garrison, who was presently unavailable, and got right down to the business of introducing the first thirty-minute paper.

Instead of sitting down in the front row, I hung out over by the side of the room, near the light switches, to keep that end of things running smoothly at least. Standing up kept me from falling asleep, and it gave me a good view of the audience as they settled in for the talks. A few latecomers straggled in, glancing nervously around to make sure they weren’t disturbing anyone, but the last stayed by the door, holding it open to finish a whispered conversation with someone outside the room. I frowned, and was just about to sneak back and ask whomever it was to come in or go out, when the door quietly shut, and I realized I was glaring at Duncan Thayer. That jerked me out of the sleepiness that was stealing over me.

Unlike the others, he didn’t seem to mind whether he was disrupting anyone, and he stepped into room, but stood to the side of the door, as if he wouldn’t be staying long. He eventually glanced around, an old trick of his, to see who was here, and saw me staring at him. He gave me a casual nod of the head, a you-know-how-it-is-at-these-things gesture, and I raised an eyebrow, and pointedly returned my attention to the speaker, who was going on about the change in marks over time in a pipe factory in southwest England. Nothing drove Duncan crazier than the idea that someone could resist him.

The next two papers rounded out the first ninety minutes, and in the middle of the fourth, there was another, louder disturbance by the door. Again I could see that Duncan was involved, and now faces—including that of the speaker—were turning toward them and back to me. I rushed to the back of the room while the speaker continued hesitantly, not knowing whether he should stop.

“Could you please keep it down,” I hissed. I looked from Duncan to