"Okay, okay," Seymour said. "Then what about Harmony? She's spry enough to manage a ladder. Maybe she's helping Granny off her enemies."

"It's possible." I nodded, telling them about the black onyx earring I found under the stage and Harmony's showing up at the party sans any earrings. "She could be helping her grandmother- and Randall Rubino could be helping them both."

Bud blinked. "Dr. Rubino? The new medical examiner guy?"

"Yes. Rubino is friendly with both Hedda and Harmony, and I saw him near Dr. Lilly's bungalow shortly after it was burglarized. He claimed he was fishing near the Charity Point Lights house. But he could have run down to the beach when he heard the maid come to the bungalow's door-and since the steps up the cliff are the only way to get off that beach, he would have been trapped there until the police left."

Bud shook his head. "What would be his motive to risk everything?"

"A big payoff maybe," I said. "Eddie Franzetti told me his divorce wiped him out. And one more thing: He claimed he was fishing, but I didn't see him with a fishing pole, only a backpack. So what was he really doing there? And why did he lie about fishing?

Bud shrugged. "I sell collapsible fishing poles in my shop that are small enough to fit in a backpack-they only cost a hundred bucks."

A C-note?! For a fishing pole! Jack yelped in my head. In my day, a twig and some twine did the trick.

"Maybe a crazy fan is helping Hedda," Milner suggested. "There are a lot of people who'd do anything for a beautiful film star."

Linda gave him a sidelong glance. "Is that why you're always dragging me to Angelina Jolie movies?"

"Don't even go there." Milner rolled his eyes. "You're the one who has a thing for George Clooney."

"Wait a minute!" I said. "Barry Yello was taking photos of people as they arrived at the block party. If we look at them, maybe we can determine who was wearing an earring that matched the one I found. Hedda had her hair down, so I don't even know if she was wearing earrings. But Harmony may have been wearing one earring before I got to her. If I saw a photo-"

"It's a good idea to look at Harmony," Fiona said. "But I think you're off track in thinking she's in league with Hedda. I still think Hedda Geist is the target. One accident is coincidence. Two accidents is something else… something that smells a lot like attempted murder."

Everyone was silent for a moment. Then Seymour cleared his throat. "I hate to say it, but the only guy with a really strong motive to off Hedda is the Fisherman Detective himself: Pierce Armstrong. His leading-man career was ruined by Vreen's death, and on top of that he went to prison."

Brainert turned to Seymour. "My god, man, it must have hurt you to say that, seeing as Armstrong is your personal hero and all."

"At least I can look at the evidence objectively-something you academic types are incapable of doing. You guys always have an agenda."

"We do not! And I don't appreciate you lumping all academics into one muddy pile."

"Muddy pile is the perfect metaphor, Parker. 'Cause you know what they say PhD stands for…"

After a few more minutes of "spirited" discussion, it was generally agreed that Pierce Armstrong had the most powerful motive to kill Hedda. His motive to kill Dr. Lilly, however, wasn't as clear, but Brainert once again suggested that her death really could have been an accident.

"You forget the burglary of Dr. Lilly's room, which occurred within an hour of her death," Fiona noted. "Again, it's too much of a coincidence. Find the thief, and you'll find your killer!"

The buzzer rang. I glanced at Sadie. "A delivery on Sunday?"

She shrugged and ran to answer the door, then returned to the Community Events room with a special-delivery envelope in her hand. "It's here!" she cried.

Seymour blinked. "What's here?"

"Pen asked me to hunt up a book on the history of Gotham Features," she replied as she pulled a battered hardcover from the package. "This book was published in the early 1950s, after Gotham went belly-up. I had it sent overnight from a used book dealer in Ann Arbor, Michigan. That and the Sunday delivery cost more than the book itself, so I hope it helps!"

Sadie tried to pass the book to Fiona, but the innkeeper threw up her hands. "Sorry, I don't have time to read a book today," she said. "The big film festival dinner is being held tonight at Chez Finch. I've got too much to do!"

"That's the costume thing," Milner said, grinning. "I'm coming as Sam Spade."

"Costume?" Bud groaned. "It that really necessary?"

"I expect everyone to arrive dressed as their favorite film noir character," Fiona sniffed, her chin high. "It's required." "Another fascist," Seymour griped. "I heard that," Fiona snapped.

"Prove to me that you're not a storm trooper. Sell me those nautical paintings in the lighthouse." "Forget it, mailman!"

Bud groaned again, still pondering the dinner. "Maybe I'll come as Tarzan. Can't think of an easier-or cheaper- costume."

Aunt Sadie laughed. "Bud Napp in a leaf-covered Speedo?" She winked playfully at her beau. "Now that would be a sight I'd like to see."

"Except it won't fit with the theme," Fiona pointed out.

"It will if I throw a trench coat over it." said Bud with a wink of his own for Sadie.

"Careful, Bud," Seymour said with a snort. "In this town, they'll arrest you for dressing like a flasher."

Sadie tucked the book under her arm. "I'll read this myself for clues, Penelope, and jot down anything curious I notice in the text."

I smiled. "Thanks. And try to keep a running list of names you come across. If Pierce Armstrong is our murderer, it's likely he has an accomplice. I'll bring Brainert the list you make. He can cross-check it with the guest list and subscribers who bought tickets for the festival. Who knows, we might get lucky and find another person here at the festival who was associated with Gotham Features."

"My money's definitely on Pierce Armstrong as the guilty party," Milner said.

"Well, if he is guilty," said Seymour, "Pierce either has an accomplice, like Pen said, or he's faking his condition and doesn't really need that wheelchair."

"Maybe it's about time we question the Fisherman Detective," I said. "Throw a few accusations his way and see if he'll bite."

Ouch, baby. And you thought my jokes were bad?

CHAPTER 18. Dark Discovery in the NoirMuseum

"SPEED UP, PEN. I want this coffee to be nice and hot when we get to Dr. Pepper's crib."

Brainert, Seymour, and I were piled into my Saturn, its battery recharged, thanks to Seymour 's ice-cream truck. And though our mission was urgent, Seymour insisted we stop at the Cooper Family Bakery for coffee and doughnuts.

Milner's lighter-than-air specialties were devoured by all three of us inside of two minutes. We'd all downed small, hot coffees, too. But then Seymour insisted on getting another, extra-l arge Mocha Java to go. Now he was in my backseat, cradling a full cup of steaming joe between his knees.

"You'll never finish that overdose of caffeine before we get to Wendell's house," Brainert complained.

"That's the point, Brainiac," Seymour replied. "I'm not going to drink it, I'm going to spill it."

"Spill it!" Brainert cried. "Spill it where?"

Seymour arched an eyebrow. "On Pierce Armstrong. I'm going to pretend to drink it, and then kind of 'accidentally' dump it on his legs. If Armstrong jumps out of that wheelchair, spry as an athlete, we'll know he's faking his condition!"

Brainert blinked once then squeezed his eyes shut. "My god. You are an idiot."