Everyone on This Train Is a Suspect

He ranted on. “And I’m supposed to grieve some middle-of-the-road Scot because he sold a few books? Please. I show him enough respect to treat him with the disdain a great artist deserves. How do we measure a man? He may be odious and foul, but if his words have value, they will outlive him.”

“An ethos you’re attempting to live by, I see.”

Wolfgang’s face did a good impression of Simone’s overcooked marshmallow, a sagging melt, before he raised his glass to Simone, ignoring me, and skulked off into the night.

“You’re in a bad mood,” Simone said, poking the coals. The tip of her silver skewer was glowing orange, flecked with the scorched sugar.

“Don’t you think something’s going on here?” I asked. “Everyone seems pretty glad that McTavish is dead.”

“Just because everyone’s glad he’s dead doesn’t mean someone killed him.” Her eyes reflected the flames. Then they lit up of their own accord and her lips curled. “You’ve got reason to be happy too! You’ve got your book! That must be a relief.”

“Speaking of the book, how does everyone know about my advance?”

Simone kept her poker face, shrugged. “Gossip?”

I knew from experience that surliness was repaid with venom from Simone, so I put it to the side and tried to capitalize on her good mood. If she was pleased I finally had something to write about, I figured she’d be open to helping me with some of the details. “Let’s say this does become the book. Help me with the backstory. You worked for McTavish, right? How’d that happen?”

“I did an exchange program to the UK and was in editorial at Gemini. This was back when they were a little floundering thing, before Morbund filled their coffers, but I jumped at the opportunity for a change of scenery. Then Henry poached me to be his full-time assistant after the first Morbund took off.”

“Good gig?”

“Better than working for Wyatt. Paid well, good hours. I’d say I got hit on less, but the two of them blur together.” She sighed. “God, the early aughts.”

“I’m sorry to hear it was so bad back then.”

“Back then?” she scoffed. “It’s happening now. So some of the really bad eggs are ‘canceled,’ apologize, and slink away for a while—and then they’re right back selling more books than ever, on our TVs, filling stadiums. The problem is deeper than that, and every person who sits back and thinks we fixed it because I don’t get slapped on the arse at work anymore is ignoring the deep-seated structural issues.”

“You seem on good terms with Wyatt,” I said. “And you were willing to agent McTavish.”

She flicked the superheated glowing tip out of the coals and held it in the air. “It’s a brave man who accuses a feminist of double standards, Ernest.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t. But you don’t get to say things like that because you don’t have to make those choices. Like I said, men like this go on and on. I’ve got to play the game as much as anyone. I figure I should take some of their money while I’m at it. That’s feminism, if you think about it.”

I found myself impressed seeing this side of Simone, a glimpse at her vulnerabilities. Her staunch pride and self-confidence had always made her seem so above everything. But I could see now the artifice of what she was doing and the sacrifice of her real self that it was: she had to look hard as nails to go toe-to-toe with people like McTavish and Wyatt.

I thought about McTavish. What had he done that he should have had his comeuppance for? I remembered Brooke’s question at the panel, and the note in McTavish’s room. What if Archibald Bench was a public accusation, not an attempt to impress? “Did Henry have any, shall we say, distasteful associations?” I asked.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Hate groups? That kind of thing.”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“I found the word Reich in some papers.”

Simone chuckled. “I love that you’re doing codes and puzzles: that sells books. Lots of books. Five stars for effort.” She winked, as if she’d just told me something, but I wasn’t sure what. “But, no, if Henry was a Nazi, he hid it very well. I couldn’t say he was involved with anything like that. Pretty young women were his weakness. And he’s not alone in that.”

I nodded. “Majors told me McTavish had a fling with Lisa Fulton?”

“Did she now?” Simone looked around and spotted Majors, who was yelling at, of all people, Douglas Parsons in the shadow of one of the homesteads. Douglas seemed clueless, his body language defensive, his hands stretched out in an I have no idea what you’re talking about gesture. I wondered if they knew each other. “Well, she’s always had a grudge against Lisa. Since Edinburgh.”

“For not backing up her plagiarism claims?”

I think this was the first time I’d ever seen Simone impressed. “Well, well, well. Maybe you do have a book on your hands. Yes. You’ve got that right: Majors is adamant that Lisa should have stuck up for her. She insists that Lisa withheld her support because Lisa was with Henry that night.”