Hadley Eastman did not exactly correspond to my mental image of a children’s book writer. Arabella came a lot closer-warm and friendly and happy. Hadley was coming across as a harridan, at least so far.
“Tell me, why are you here?” I asked in what I hoped was a reasonably calm tone.
Hadley tossed her artfully colored hair behind her shoulders. “I had a very unpleasant interview with a police officer yesterday, about this accident at Let’s Play.”
So the police were still calling it an accident? Or was that Hadley’s label?
“You mean that tragic event that resulted in someone’s death? That the police are investigating?”
I enjoyed watching Hadley trying to mold her face into an appropriately sympathetic expression-not very successfully.
Hadley went on. “They wanted to know if I had any enemies, anyone who would like to destroy my reputation.”
“Do you?” It wouldn’t surprise me, given what I’d seen of her so far.
“Well, of course there are those who envy my success. I can name quite a few writers in my genre who would love to see me brought down. Getting published in children’s fiction is brutal.”
“I don’t doubt it.” That at least squared with what little I knew about the publishing business. “But how far would they go?”
The flush on Hadley’s cheeks was receding. “How should I know? I try to stay away from them. I don’t do signings anymore-too many sticky-fingered kids whining. I go to a few conferences and make nice at the cocktail parties, and that’s it. I don’t need to suck up to the masses at this point in my career.”
A children’s author who didn’t tolerate children? “You’re saying you’re that successful?”
She stared at me. “You do know who I am?”
“Yes. You write the Harriet the Hedgehog series.”
“New York Times best seller, six times over. Millions of books sold. Harriet is an icon of contemporary society, at least among the under-five demographic.”
“I see.” What I actually saw was a vitriolic stick of a woman who was older than she wanted to appear-probably a good ten years my senior. “Do you have children of your own?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Just wondering,” I said mildly. I was beginning to enjoy this dialogue. “I don’t know your books, but I thought the exhibit at Let’s Play was charming-until someone died. Certainly the police have to look at all angles. Do you think you might’ve been the target, rather than the museum or someone there?”
“I… don’t know.” She looked momentarily deflated, then rallied. “If there’s any hate mail, my publicist would have it. I get lots of mail, you know, from children and their parents, but that goes through my publisher, and they forward it to my assistant.” She waved vaguely at Chloe in the outer office. “I told the police to talk to her. I certainly couldn’t tell them anything.”
“But you do think it’s possible?”
“Well, of course. For anyone of my stature, it’s certainly possible. There are some rather sick people out there, who hate anyone who does well.”
“You’ve spoken with Arabella since this happened?” I asked.
“Of course I have. I am involved, after all-through no fault of my own. My participation in this exhibition was a huge favor to her, and one that I’m beginning to regret.”
Hadley certainly was self-centered. She might be a successful author, but Let’s Play was also a consistently popular museum. The advantages were clearly mutual, and Hadley stood to receive some nice publicity from the event-at least, she would’ve until the death. She’d still get publicity now, but not the kind she had hoped for. Presumably. “I’m sure she appreciated it. And it does look charming. Why do you think anyone pointed a finger at you?”
Hadley sniffed. “If you know Arabella, you know she seldom takes responsibility for anything. And she’ll say almost anything to deflect attention from her and her precious little museum. Nothing is ever her fault. So she said that she’d talked with you, and you had suggested that I might have been the target, rather than Arabella or that place she runs.”
If true, this was a side of Arabella I hadn’t seen. But my initial impression was that she was a sincerely sweet person. Plus, she’d managed her institution successfully for over twenty years. To do that, you had to accept responsibility and take the bad along with the good. Still, I could see Arabella quailing in the face of a rant from Hadley and grasping at any excuse to end the confrontation, including redirecting her my way. Hadley could have construed Arabella’s flustered defense as an attack on her-since apparently everything came back to Hadley. I wondered what Arabella’s description of Hadley would be.
Actually, I’d be happy to end this interview sooner rather than later, so I cut to the chase. “Again, what is it you want from me, Hadley?”
“I want you to stop bad-mouthing me to other people. Unfortunately, after that last little mess you landed in, the police and other people might actually listen to you.”
I wouldn’t say that my comment to Arabella could be called bad-mouthing, and I didn’t like the idea that my brush with crime had actually penetrated Hadley’s protective veil of self-interest. “I would never make an unsubstantiated accusation about anyone,” I said neutrally. Actually, now that I’d met her, it would be a pleasure to fling some mud at Hadley and let her worm her way out of it. But I was a better person than that-I hoped. “Let the police do their job. If you’re not involved, I’m sure the police will clear you.”
“I should hope so. And if things get any worse, I’ll sue… somebody for libel or defamation of character or whatever. Or my publisher will-they’ve got a lot of clout.”
I was rapidly tiring of Hadley Eastman. Luckily I was rescued by Shelby’s appearance.
“Did I hear that Hadley Eastman was here?” Shelby walked into the office, wreathed in smiles. “It is you! This is such a pleasure! Do you know, my little nieces and nephews just adore your books? That Harriet-she’s such a sweetie!” Shelby’s southern accent had mysteriously grown thicker-and dripped sugar.
I watched with amusement as Hadley switched gears to gracious-author mode. “Why, aren’t you sweet? It’s so nice of you to say so. Which one is their favorite?”
Shelby beamed. “Why, they just love them all!” While Hadley wasn’t looking, Shelby winked at me. I’d bet money Shelby couldn’t name a single one of the books.
“Let me sign a copy for you, then.” Hadley reached into her very large purse and extricated several books. “How many would you like? And to whom should I make them out?”
Shelby looked momentarily baffled but bounced back quickly. “I’m sure they’ve got all of them back home. Why don’t you just sign a copy of the first book? It’s such a classic!”
“I’d be delighted. Chloe!” she yelled. I jumped. Chloe didn’t respond, and I didn’t see her in her seat. “Damn, where is that girl? Where are the rest of the books?” Hadley muttered under her breath, and she rose and stalked out to the jumble of bags Chloe had left by the chair. She rifled through them and pulled out a book, opened it to the title page, and signed it with a flourish. Then she held it out to Shelby. “There you are. That’ll be twelve dollars.”
I fought hard against the urge to giggle. Hadley definitely had nerve to spare. “Let me get that for you, Shelby.” I fished in my purse and handed over the money to Hadley-exact change. I wondered if there was some way I could count this as a professional expense. In any case, it would be a small price to pay to get Hadley out of my office.