Page 57 of Fish and Chip

Gertie’s lips twitch. “The ‘tolerated each other for professional reasons’ category. We attended the same conferences, submitted to the same anthologies, competed for the same book deals. Belladonna had a talent for making enemies. I was just one of many.”

“We’ve heard some things,” I say, watching her face. “About your past. Your time in the publishing world.”

Her hand goes straight to the bone beads at her throat and starts the slow circles. Same thing she did onstage. It looks like a nervous habit to me. That necklace is getting more of a workout than a stress ball at a shareholders’ meeting. It’s not a response to fear, exactly. More like we hauled out her embarrassing college photos at a dinner party and asked her to narrate the slideshow.

“Ah. The rumor mill’s been busy, I see.” Gertie leans back against the bench. “Let me guess. Someone told you I left publishing under questionable circumstances?”

“Something like that,” Dexter says, his cop voice creeping in.

“And you want to know if it’s true?” Gertie examines her nails like we’re discussing the weather. “Or you want to know if Belladonna knew about it?”

“Both would be helpful,” I admit.

Gertie sighs, long and theatrical, a performance worthy of its own panel. “Fine. Yes, I left Preston & Hall Publishing somewhat abruptly. No, it wasn’t entirely voluntary. And yes, there were financial irregularities involved that I would prefer not to discuss in detail because my lawyer advised me that’s a terrible idea.”

“Financial irregularities,” Dexter repeats. “That’s a nice way of putting it.”

“I’m a writer. I’m good with euphemisms.” She shrugs. “The point is, I made mistakes, I paid for them, literally and figuratively, and I moved on. Ancient history.”

“Except Belladonna didn’t let it stay ancient history, did she?” I press.

Gertie’s jaw tightens. “No. She didn’t. Belladonna had a gift for bringing up the past at the most inconvenient times. Little comments here and there. Nothing actionable, but enough to keep people wondering.”

“What kind of comments?” Dexter asks.

“‘Oh, Gertie, you must know all about creative accounting. I bet you have insider knowledge about corporate fraud.’ That sort of thing. Always in public. Always with just enough of a smile to make it seem like a joke.” Gertie’s voice hardens. “Except it wasn’t a joke. It was a reminder that she knew, and she could tell everyone if she wanted to.”

“Blackmail is a particularly terrible crime.” Her own words from twenty minutes ago, delivered to fifty note-taking witnesses. The woman literally wrote the lecture on her own motive.

“That must have made you angry,” I say.

“Furious. But not homicidal.” Gertie meets my eyes without so much as a blink. “I’ve spent five years rebuilding my reputation. I’m not about to throw that away by actually committing the crimes I write about.”

“Unless she was threatening to expose you completely,” I suggest. “You know, go public with whatever she knew.”

“She was always threatening that. It’s what she did. Belladonna collected secrets and held them like insurance policies.” Gertie waves a hand as if shooing away the whole topic. “But here’s the thing. If she exposed me, she’d have to explain how she knew and why she sat on the information for years. That makes her complicit. We were stuck in mutually assured destruction.”

“Maybe she didn’t care anymore,” Dexter counters. “Maybe she was ready to burn bridges.”

Gertie considers this, and her thumb finds the beads again. Circle, circle, pause. “Possible. But Belladonna loved her reputation too much. She wouldn’t sacrifice it just to take me down.”

I lean forward. “What if it wasn’t just about you? What if she had information on other people too? People with bigger secrets?”

“Oh, she definitely did.” Gertie’s smile returns, slow and knowing. “Belladonna had dirt on half the authors in this industry. That was her hobby.”

“Like who?” I ask.

“Like I’m going to give you a list and get myself in trouble?” Gertie laughs, genuinely delighted, which is somehow worse than if she’d refused outright. “Nice try. But I will say this. If you’re looking for someone with a real motive, look for someone whose entire career would collapse if their secret got out. Not someone like me who’d just be embarrassed.”

“Any suggestions on where to start?” Dexter asks.

Gertie stands, brushing off her pantsuit. “I’m a mystery writer, Detective. I appreciate a good puzzle. Figure it out yourself.” She pauses. “Though if I were you, I’d pay attention to the people who seem the most innocent. Those are usually the ones with the most to hide.”

Terrific. In this crowd, that narrows it down to everyone, including the woman knitting in a Miss Marple costume and possibly Henrietta.

“Where were you when Belladonna died?” Dexter asks. Standard question, and Gertie clearly expected it.

“At the party. Mingling, eating, doing the author thing. I was pretty visible most of the night. Ask around. Plenty of people saw me.”