“He’s Robin Crusoe, the mystery writer,” Melanie said triumphantly.

The insurance clerk beats the librarian in her own bailiwick.

“He looks different without the pipe in his mouth,” John Queensland said from behind my right shoulder. John, our wealthy real-estate-rich president, was immaculate as usual; an expensive suit, a white shirt, his creamy white hair smooth and the part sharp as an arrow. John had become more interesting to me when he’d started dating my mother. I felt there must be substance below the stuffed-shirt exterior. After all, he was a Lizzie Borden expert… and he believed she was innocent! A true romantic, though he hid it well.

“So what’s he doing here?” I asked practically. “With Lizanne.”

“I’ll find out,” said John promptly. “I should greet him anyway, as club president. Of course visitors are welcome, though I don’t believe we’ve ever had any before.”

“Wait, I need to tell you about this phone call,” I said quickly. The newcomer had distracted me. “When I came in a few minutes ago-”

But Lizanne had spotted me and was swaying over to our little group, her semi-famous escort in tow.

“Roe, I brought you all some company tonight,” Lizanne said with her agreeable smile. And she introduced us all around with facility, since Lizanne knows everyone in Lawrenceton. My hand was engulfed in the writer’s huge boney one, and he really shook it, too. I liked that; I hate it when people just kind of press your hand and let it drop. I looked up and up at his crinkly mouth and little hazel eyes, and I just liked him altogether.

“Roe, this is Robin Crusoe, who just moved to Lawrenceton,” Lizanne said. “Robin, this is Roe Teagarden.”

He gave me an appreciative smile but he was with Lizanne, so I realistically built nothing on that.

“I thought Robin Crusoe was a pseudonym,” Bankston murmured in my ear.

“I did too,” I whispered, “but apparently not.”