Saturday streaked by with preparations for Armand’s private reading at the Echo Ridge Library. By the time six-forty-five chimed on her phone’s reminder, Britta felt like her head was ready to explode, especially because Armand had still not arrived.
The room was full of tittering ladies, adoring fans of all ages dying to meet the famous French author. Britta kept going back and forth between her office and the main room of the library to check on Armand’s arrival. Every time she approached, she was accosted with questions and requests.
“He had a busy day,” she told one of the women. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” Britta walked around one of the stacks and checked her phone, still nothing.
“He was supposed to be here at six-thirty, wasn’t he?” Marian asked.
“Yes, Lindy has been trying
