Galsworthy blathered on, but I could see that Andrea Ferris was about ready to pop. She cut him off suddenly in mid-sentence.
“I’ll be delighted to share your observations of contemporary publishing with my colleagues in New York,” Andrea said, her tone deceptively sweet. “I have little doubt they will respond immediately by pulping anything that smacks of lowbrow entertainment and instead start printing—in huge quantities, of course—works that cannot fail to enlighten and transform. This will revolutionize publishing around the world, and your name, professor, will be on everyone’s lips.”
After his initial shock at being interrupted, Galsworthy appeared delighted to have his opinions received so well. But Andrea’s tone altered as she spoke, becoming more waspish by the syllable, until even Galsworthy had to recognize the sarcasm.
“Good day to you, young woman.” Galsworthy glared at Andrea, and so upset was he that he failed to include Julia and me in his farewell.
Julia and I both sighed audibly as he stalked off.
“What a pretentious snot,” Andrea said. She sniffed. “If I had a dollar for every one of his kind I’ve met, I could retire.” She turned to me and stuck out her hand. “Andrea Ferris, the late Godfrey Priest’s agent.”
“Charlie Harris,” I said. “Archivist here at the college. Like Mrs. Wardlaw, I went to school with Godfrey eons ago.”
Andrea nodded, her eyes on Julia. “You’re the mother of his son, aren’t you?”
Startled, Julia nodded. “I asked Godfrey to keep it to himself for a while, but obviously he didn’t.”
“Oh, Godfrey told me everything,” Andrea said. “He was my biggest client, you know.”
Had Godfrey really told her everything, I wondered? Did Andrea know about the ghostwriter?
“I’m not surprised,” I said. “Godfrey made millions.”
“He sure did.” Andrea’s smile was smug. “No complaints there.” She cocked her head to one side, thinking about something. “But you know, the old windbag did have a point about something.”
“What was that?” I said, though I knew what she meant.
“The bit about Godfrey’s treatment of women in the books,” Andrea replied. “That always bothered me, because Godfrey liked women. No doubt about that. I never could figure out why the tone of the books was so antifemale.”
“Did you ever ask him about it?” Julia seemed intrigued by the question, too.
“I did, early on,” Andrea said. “I wasn’t his agent for his first few books. I took him on on the strength of Count the Cost, his first bestseller.” She frowned. “I went back and read one of his earlier books, and the tone was very different.”
“What was Godfrey’s response when you asked him about it?” I said to get her back to the point.
“He just shrugged and said that was the way the book came out. He claimed most thrillers were like that anyway, so why should his be different?”
“And that made sense to you?” Julia didn’t sound convinced.
“As much as anything else,” Andrea said. “Frankly, he started making so much money for both of us, I didn’t really care.”
I decided to risk a question. “Did you ever think someone else might have written the books? I mean, because the tone was so different.”
Andrea laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Who else could have written them? Godfrey changed his style, that’s all. He wanted to break out and make serious money, and he did.”
She seemed sincere, and I thought Godfrey had kept his ghostwriter a secret from her, too. She was in for a rude shock, though.
Julia regarded me, obviously curious. She knew that I wouldn’t have asked such a question without a reason.
Before either of us could respond to Andrea’s last remark, she spoke again. “He made it after all.” She waved at someone.
Julia and I turned our heads to look. “Who is it?” I asked.
“The tall man in the suit there, talking to the deputy. You know who I mean, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Julia and I said in unison.
About twenty feet away Kanesha Berry was deep in conversation with a distinguished-looking man about sixty years old.
“Who is he?” Julia asked.
“Miles Burton,” Andrea replied. “Godfrey’s attorney.” She grinned at Julia. “And if Godfrey managed to get his will changed like he was planning to, your son is going to be really rich, Mrs. Wardlaw.”
THIRTY-ONE
After her announcement, Andrea excused herself, saying she wanted to talk to Miles Burton.
“That was hardly discreet,” I said as she walked away.
“No,” Julia said. “But I already knew that. Godfrey told me he changed his will to include Justin and acknowledge him as his son.” She smiled with what appeared to me to be grim satisfaction. “And he died before he could change it again.”
“Why would he want to change it again?”
For a moment Julia looked uneasy. “Well, Justin did quarrel with him, and you know how nasty Godfrey could be when he didn’t get his way.”
That didn’t make much sense to me. One disagreement on the day Godfrey met his son for the first time didn’t mean he would disinherit Justin. Godfrey was too excited about having a son, I figured, to do something vindictive after one meeting.
I didn’t express my doubts to Julia, though. She was watching Andrea Ferris speak with Kanesha Berry and Miles Burton. Her face betrayed her avid interest. I wondered why she didn’t simply go up to them and introduce herself to the lawyer.
Kanesha saved her the trouble. She beckoned for Julia to join them, and I decided I was included in the invitation. Julia needed support, especially since Ezra wasn’t here with her.
Kanesha frowned at me as she introduced Julia to Miles Burton.
“I regret that we are meeting under such tragic circumstances,” Burton said, his voice a mellow baritone. “Where is your son? Did he attend the service?”
“Yes, he did,” Julia said. “He’s here somewhere.”
“He was in the sanctuary, up in the choir loft the last time I saw him.” I introduced myself. “Would you like to speak to him?”
“Yes, I would,” Burton said with a grave smile. “I have matters to discuss with him and with Mrs. Wardlaw.”
“I’ll go find him,” I said, and Burton nodded his thanks.
As I left them, Julia was asking Burton how long he had been Godfrey’s attorney. I didn’t hear the answer.
Out in the sanctuary, I turned to look up into the choir loft. Justin and Diesel weren’t there. I scanned the sanctuary, but there was no sign of them. Perhaps Justin had gone to the restroom.
I went down the hall on the side of the chapel opposite the meeting room and checked inside the men’s room. All was quiet, and I didn’t see any legs, human or feline, in any of the stalls. Had Justin and Diesel gone home?
How had they made it past the media outside? I had visions of Justin being pinned to the front steps of the chapel while reporters bombarded him with questions. But I realized that, unless they knew who Justin was, they probably would have asked him only general questions. Like why did he have a cat with him?
On a hunch, I went further down the hall to the back of the chapel. There was another short hallway running across the rear of the building, which led to a back door. I opened the door and peeked outside. There were no reporters out here.
I stepped outside on the stoop and looked around. No sign of boy and cat here, but I realized that Justin and Diesel could easily have slipped away without attracting attention. They could have taken a roundabout way to the house without having to cross paths with the media.
I made my way back into the meeting room to report to Miles Burton and the others. As I approached them, Andrea Ferris was speaking.