Read Online Murder Miscalculated by Andrew MacRae - Free Book Online

believe that my novel, though presented as fiction, is the true story of what happened to those poor settlers.”
    “Fiddlesticks,” said Barbara. “I’ve read the diaries of Tamzene Donner and Patricia Reed. There’s no mention of such a thing in them.”
    “Exactly!” said Max with triumph. “That shows you how well the thieves covered their tracks.”
    Made mute by his ludicrous illogic, we could only stare back at him.
    The bell above the shop door jingled. It was six-thirty. “I guess people are starting to arrive,” I said, getting up from the table. “Max, why don’t you stay and finish eating while Lynn and I take care of a few final things up front?”
    Lynn and I made our escape as fast as we could. As I expected, the visitor was Old Tom. I told him there might be some soup left for him, and at the same time he could meet the great Max Carson. Tom went to the back room, leaving us alone.
    “He’d better be worth this,” Lynn said quietly to me as we stood in the bookstore surveying the scene. “If he calls me little lady again, he’s going to regret it.”
    I told her how much the profit margin was on each of his books. She counted the number of chairs, did a quick calculation, and her eyebrows went up. “I suppose he’s worth it.”
    Max chose just that moment to sweep through the bead curtain from the back room.
    “Hey, little lady, I didn’t get a chance to tell you the rest of that story.”
    Lynn punched me on the arm, stalked past Max and left without saying a word.
    Max watched her leave, then turned back to me. “Kind of a moody girl, ain’t she?”
    I explained to Max that Lynn had a lot of prep work to do for her dancing classes.
    He studied the poster on the wall. “Adult dancing?” he asked. “Is that what I think it is?”
    He didn’t give me a chance to answer as he smiled a lecherous grin. “Well, what do you know? I guess you bookstore types get to have a little fun after all, don’t you?”
    “Bookstore types?”
    “Yeah, you know. You guys always have your noses in books. You read so much you miss what’s going on in the real world.”
    He walked over to the front door and opened it with a flourish. He continued talking as the bell jangled an accompaniment. “Son, outside there’s a whole world going on. There’s action out on those streets you couldn’t imagine in your wildest dreams.”
    “There is, is there?”
    “There certainly is. Son, I could show you a side of life you don’t know exists. It’s my job as a writer to explore not just the best in people but the worst, as well. Why, you and I could walk down this street, and I could point out to you who’s a saint and who’s a sinner.”
    “Really?”
    “You bet I could. Son, there are crooks out there who could steal you blind without you suspecting a thing. Why, I could …” His words were cut off as two people walked through the door he was holding open. Max Carson’s audience was arriving.

 
     
     
Chapter Eleven
     
     
    Max Carson may be a hack writer, and Lynn may add that he’s a chauvinist of porcine parentage. Barbara may simply sniff and say he’s a phony from his hat down. But after watching him in action at the book signing that evening, all three of us had to agree that Max Carson was also one heck of a showman.
    He began the event by reading a short selection from his book, and he chose well. Some writers choose the first page or two of their novel. Some choose favorite passages, those they are proud of as a writer. Max was one of the comparatively few writers who know how to choose passages that hook the audience and make them want to buy the book. He picked a passage that began with these words:
    “Theirs were the last covered wagons that summer to leave Independence, Missouri. They knew they needed to push hard to reach the Sierras before winter set in and made the passage impossible. Donner, the man elected by the other settlers as leader, relied on Reed’s experience at