The Stardust Readers Retreat
The resort, nestled into the mountain like a bookworm in her favorite chair, emerged as the morning fog cleared. It stood there, a cross between a quaint ski lodge and a Scottish castle, tucked away waiting for the right person to discover it. A banner fluttered over the entrance.
WELCOME, READERS & AUTHORS
GLAMOUR · STORIES · MAGIC
“Magic might be pushing it.” Jo adjusted her backpack. “But I respect the confidence.”
Aspen huffed in agreement.
They passed through the lobby, only stopping to admire the high ceilings and wooden beams for a moment. Inside, readers clustered around the check-in desk, carrying tote bags and clutching well-loved paperbacks, while others read quietly on their e-readers. Someone gasped. Someone else whispered.
“Omigod! It’s her.”
Jo smiled without thinking.
She stopped so Aspen could sit. Aspen always sat for photos. Together they posed while the reader took a photo.
“I love your books. They feel like champagne.” The woman held out a paperback. “Would you mind signing my book?”
“Of course.” Jo took the book. “I’m so happy to hear you love them. I hope they don’t leave you with a headache like bubbly can though. Who should I make it out to?”
“Oh, you don’t mind—I’m Sarah with an ‘h,’” she said, bouncing from one foot to the other.
Jo handed the book back. “Here you go. Thank you so much for reading my stories.”
“Oh no, thank you.” Sarah skipped away.
By the time Jo reached the registration desk, Aspen had acquired three compliments, one contraband treat, and an admirer who promised to attend every panel Jo was on.
Jo turned, ready to follow the bellhop, who had offered to take her bag, and promptly walked straight into a chest.
A very solid chest.
“I’m so sorry.” She responded automatically, already raising her hands.
The man she’d collided with steadied both of them with surprising gentleness. He was tall, dressed in dark jeans and a soft gray cardigan, holding a canvas tote that smelled faintly like bread.
Bread.
Freshly baked bread.
Jo blinked.
“No harm done,” he said. His voice was calm, pleasant, and entirely too reasonable for someone standing in the middle of a glitter-soaked reader event.
Aspen sat immediately. She lifted one paw in front of her, waving it expectantly.
He bent over, holding out his cardigan clad arm, and took her paw. “Why, thank you, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Jo stared. “I’m sorry. She only does that when she approves of someone.”
The man looked up, allowing Aspen to lick his hand while he did so. “A high honor, I assume.”
“It is,” Jo said. “She has standards.”
Aspen barked softly in confirmation.
“Well, I feel chosen.” He scratched her ears before standing.
Jo laughed before she could stop herself.
“I’m Josephine.” She offered her hand. Suddenly, it felt like names mattered. “People Aspen approves of call me Jo.”
He reached to take her hand, but stopped, remembering the dog slobber. He wiped his hand on his jeans and shrugged. “Eric, Eric Vale.”
She looked down at her extended hand before lowering it to her side. She realized why he wasn’t shaking it and smiled.
“Thanks for saving me from my dog’s slobber. Wait—” The name clicked, her brain flipping through bestseller lists and panel schedules. “You’re . . .”
“Here for the murder.” He finished sardonically.
She laughed again, louder this time. “Of course you are.”
“And you, Josephine Hart,” he said, standing and brushing dog hair from his knees without complaint, “are here to convince everyone that love solves everything.”
“Most things,” she corrected. “I allow for some exceptions—in very rare circumstances.”
His eyes warmed at that. “Generous of you.”
A bellhop cleared his throat nearby, clearly uncertain whether or not to interrupt.
Jo reached for Aspen’s leash. “Well, Eric Vale, mystery magnate and friend of dogs, I suppose we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
“Statistically likely,” he agreed. Then, after a beat, “Your dog has excellent judgment.” He bowed his head and turned to leave.
Aspen beamed. Her tail wagged so fast it circled.
Jo shouldered her pack, already feeling the hum of possibility—of stories, of people, of something unexpected beginning.
Behind them, somewhere deeper in the resort, laughter rang out. Champagne glasses clinked. A man’s voice rose too loudly, too sharply.
Aspen’s ears pricked.
Jo didn’t notice.
Not yet.
The bellhop led them down a wide wood paneled hallway. Black-and-white photos of different young women covered in sequins and feathers hung from each door.
Showgirls, Jo realized, from decades past.
Aspen paused in front of one photo as if she were assessing the competition.
“You’d win. No question.” Jo patted the dog’s head before gently tugging on her leash.
The bellhop stopped. “This is your room.” He unlocked the door and unloaded the luggage cart.
She was about to follow him in when Aspen tugged on her leash. Jo looked up to see Eric walking down the hall.
“Interesting,” Eric said.
Jo blinked. “Interesting how?”
He unlocked the door of the room next to hers. “It appears we’re neighbors.”
“Oh,” Jo said.
Aspen wagged her tail like this was the best news she’d heard all day.
Eric shifted his bag higher on his shoulder. “Statistically speaking, that increases the likelihood of repeated interaction.”
Jo smiled. “You say that like it’s a warning.”
“I say it like a fact.”
The bellhop came out of the room. “Your panel starts in fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you.” She handed him a few bucks, before turning to Eric. “Well then, we better head down now.”
“Josephine,” he said thoughtfully. “Shall we?” He gestured down the corridor.
They walked down the hall together, Aspen trotting between them like a furry chaperone.
When they entered the lobby, the resort was bustling. Readers hurried to conference rooms with coffee cups, authors flipped through notes, and staff adjusted signage and directional boards.
Jo scanned the schedule at the atrium’s entrance. “Romance panel is in the Redwood Room.”
“I’m in Cedar A, next to the VIP room,” Eric said.
“I think those rooms are next to each other.” Jo followed him down the hall.
Eric stopped short.
Jo nearly ran into him but stopped short of colliding this time.
“What?” she asked.
Eric stepped closer to the sign, studying it with the focused calm of someone who liked things to make sense. “This says the VIP room is here, in the Evergreen Room. That’s not right. It should be closer to the panels.”
“Maybe they moved it,” she said.
He adjusted his glasses. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense to move it farther away.”
Jo considered this, then shrugged. “I write about love conquering all. You write about murder. One of us was bound to notice something ominous. And by one of us, I mean you.”
Eric’s mouth twitched into a faint smile. “I don’t think it’s ominous.”
“Just interesting?” she teased.
“Exactly.”
Aspen sat and stared at the sign, ears pricked.
Eric glanced at her. “What do you think?”
Aspen huffed once, then stood and nudged Jo’s leg, clearly ready to move on.
Eric straightened. “The dog says it’s not our problem . . . yet.”
Jo laughed. “She’s very wise.”
They resumed walking, the hum of the event rising around them, the panel rooms just ahead.
Behind them, a staff member hurried up and quietly swapped the sign.
Eric noticed.
Jo didn’t.
“There’s my room.” Eric pointed to an open door.
She smiled. “I’ll see you around.”
“As I said, statistically that’s very likely.” He smiled before heading into his room.
Aspen stared at the doorway that Eric just walked through.
“Come on, I need to get to my panel.” Jo tugged on the leash.
Together, they made their way further down the hall. Outside the Redwood Room there was a sign, VIP Lounge. Jo looked around, there were no signs for her panel.
“I wonder what happened. And where my panel is now?” She shrugged.
Aspen wagged her tail, pulling Jo back to Cedar A.
Jo laughed. “I guess that’s as good of a plan as any. Maybe there’ll be a volunteer who has some answers for me.”
Cedar A was full when Jo arrived. Not full as in a few extra chairs pulled in, but full as in standing-room-only, readers lining the walls, phones already raised. Jo paused just inside the doorway.
Aspen sat at her side, posture alert, tail low. She didn’t love crowds, but she tolerated them for Jo. Barely.
A staff member scurried past her carrying a stack of programs, whispering frantically into a headset. Jo tried to stop her. It didn’t work.
Jo scanned the front of the room. There, seated behind the long table draped in black cloth, was Eric. And beside him—Victor LaRue.
Victor looked like the kind of man who always got what he wanted. Impeccably tailored suit, silver at his temples, smile sharp enough to cut glass. He leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on the microphone like it belonged to him.
“Ah, Josephine Hart.” Victor’s voice boomed. He stood, arms spread. “There you are.”
The crowd turned as one, every eye on her.
He couldn’t be talking to her. She wasn’t scheduled to be in this room. There was no reason for her to be in this room.
Eric’s gaze lifted, and their eyes met. Relief flitted across his face.
“I guess that’s my cue.” She straightened, plastering a smile on her face.
Aspen rose, walking beside Jo with her head high. She may not normally like crowds, but if they were showering her with adoration, she quickly learned to love them.
Victor gestured towards her. “It looks like we’ve been blessed by a minor scheduling conflict. We’ll be combining two panels.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd. There was confusion, excitement, and a bit of disappointment.
“Please welcome,” Victor continued smoothly, “Josephine Hart, queen of romantic glamour and Eric Vale, whose books remind us that sometimes love dies messily.” Victor continued to announce the other authors at the table.
Jo reached the table and took the empty chair beside Eric.
She leaned in. “Did you know about this?”