"True… Dr. Lilly did bring up some pretty ugly details from her youth. With Hedda and her family trying so hard to maintain the upper-class image, the book could prove embarrassing…"

Yeah, baby. It could.

I swallowed uneasily, seeing a brand-new motive for Hedda to want Lilly killed-along with the book's publicity.

But could Hedda have done away with Dr. Lilly all by herself? Brainert had characterized Hedda as frail and old. While her age was obvious, I wondered how "frail" she really was.

Time to go fishing, sweetheart.

"Right," I told Jack. Then I turned to Hedda.

"We have quite a lot of customers queued up for your signing in the Events room, Ms. Geist. How's your strength? Do you feel up to this?"

Hedda waved her hand, flashing more platinum on two diamond rings. "I still ride two hours every day on my horse farm," she said with a proud little smile. "I think I can handle scribbling my name on a few books."

She gestured to someone behind me. I turned to find her granddaughter, Harmony, standing there. The young woman looked as stunning as ever in a belly-baring white tank and a low-riding skirt of designer denim. Her layered blonde hair was loose, her pretty feet at the end of long, tanned legs, were manicured with pink nail polish and caressed by sandals of Italian leather.

I greeted her, counting at least three small groups of young men who were either gaping openly in her direction or glancing furtively at her backside while whispering among themselves. I didn't see Dixon Gallagher among the admiring males-and none of them looked big enough to be that Darth Vader biker who'd run me down in the woods near Charity Point.

Ignoring the lump that still throbbed high on my forehead, I clapped my hands and brightly suggested, "Shall we move into the Events room?"

Both women followed me into the large space, where a crowd had been marshaled into a civilized queue, thanks to Seymour Tarnish. "Don't push, people! There are plenty of Hedda's books available. I said, don't push! That means you, buster!"

The fans were all ages and they began to applaud and whistle when they saw Hedda enter the room. The old actress smiled, obviously pleased, and gave her adoring fans a royal wave. I showed her where to sit.

She took her time settling herself into the padded armchair behind the polished walnut table. "Is there water, Mrs. McClure?"

"Yes, of course." I presented her with a sealed bottle. She eyed it with a frown of obvious disapproval. I got the hint, opened it, and poured it into a paper cup.

Hedda took a sip and cleared her throat. "Now… where are my special pens? Harmony!"

Harmony stepped up and provided them. "Here you are, Grandma."

"Thank you, Harmony. You're such a dear! Enjoy yourself now, darling. Why don't you select some books for your summer reading. My treat."

Harmony smiled, nodded at me, and wandered off toward the selling floor-the eyes of just about every male in the room watching her leave.

The signing went fairly smoothly after that, with the exception of a plump older man in a sports jacket who attempted to monopolize Hedda with gushing tales of his fandom.

"…and I have every poster on my wall and a signed photograph from the publicity department of Gotham Features. Oh, how I treasure that photo. I can't believe I'm here talking to you. To finally smell your perfume is a thrill for me." The man made a show of inhaling the air. "Ah… that delicate orange-blossom scent. I read in your book how a French admirer sent you a bottle of Vouloir from Paris, and it's the only perfume you've ever worn since. Your signature scent. I can finally smell it for myself. Intoxicating! Now, let me ask you about playing opposite Pierce Armstrong in-"

"Okay, buddy!" Seymour shouted. "Hedda signed your book. Now move along! Give someone else a chance!"

As the crowd dwindled down, I stepped up to Hedda.

"More water, Ms. Geist?"

"Yes… unless you have a good bottle of California Sauvignon Blanc handy?" She smiled. "My late husband had friends who owned a vineyard in Napa. I'm a sucker for a good Sav."

"Sorry, no wine," I said. "We tried serving alcohol once at a signing but our local councilwoman fined us for not having a liquor license."

"What a shame."

I opened a fresh bottle of water and cleared my throat. With the signing almost over, I knew this was the best chance I had to ask the former actress a few more questions.

"I was wondering, Ms. Geist," I began, as I refilled her cup. "Did you hear about Dr. Lilly?"

"Terrible business…" Hedda shook her head, but her eyes remained down, focused on the table and the book she was signing. "A tragic accident to be sure…"

"Just like last evening," I replied. "That large, heavy speaker falling onto the stage."

"Oh, yes!" She straightened immediately and met my eyes. "I was quite put out. It could have killed me!"

"Or Dr. Lilly," I noted.

"Oh, no!" Hedda frowned. "You're mistaken, Mrs. McClure. Dr. Lilly stepped aside to let me speak. She was completely clear of danger when that speaker careened toward the stage and nearly finished me!"

With wide dramatic eyes Hedda stared at me a moment, then she turned back to the crowd, her expression instantly transforming into a warm smile as she waved the next customer forward.

"Come, come!" she said brightly. "Step up!" "Okay," I silently told Jack, "that was weird." Jack snorted. Once a diva, always a diva. "Or drama queen… "

A rose by any other name… still wants the spotlight.

Clearing my throat, I stepped closer to the former actress. "I was wondering something else, Ms. Geist," I said quietly as she signed the next customer's book. "Did you know about Dr. Lilly's new publication?"

"What's that, Mrs. McClure? You say Dr. Lilly had a new book?"

"Yes, but it wasn't a film study like her other titles. This book was a biography of your life and career, and it made quite a few rather sensational charges at the end of it."

"Is that so?" Hedda finished signing and handed the book back to the young woman. She waved the next customer forward, a young man wearing a St. Francis College T-shirt.

"You know, it's sad." She glanced at me, then back down at the book she was signing. "There are so many desperate writers out there like Irene Lilly, hacking out some story that wouldn't have existed in the first place if it weren't for people like me, people with innate talent who risked and toiled to become recognized figures. They're rather like parasites, don't you think?"

"Dr. Lilly claims in this new book that Irving Vreen's death wasn't an accident. She claims that Pierce Armstrong was set up and betrayed. She claims that what happened at the Porter-house restaurant in 1948 was calculated, premeditated. Cold-blooded murder."

Hedda ignored me for a moment, handed the book she'd just signed to the young man and waved at the next person to step up. It was another young man, a very handsome one wearing a fraternity jacket. She winked flirtatiously at the boy and laughed.

"What do you think, young man?" she teased. "Have I still got it?"

He laughed and nodded vigorously, his cheeks reddening. She giggled like a young girl, then opened his book and began to sign.

"You know, Mrs. McClure…" She looked my way, then back to the book. "Another ambitious writer once tried to stir the pot, just like Dr. Lilly. This was back in 1966, before you were even born."

"What happened?" I pressed.

"This young man, a magazine journalist, tracked me down, tried to shock me with allegations and pointed questions. I had nothing to say, of course. He dug and dug but found nothing and simply gave up. Nobody really cared anymore, you see? It was all played out already. Irving Vreen was long dead by then. And nobody really cares about the dead. To the living, they're just… irrelevant."