Buried in a Book (4 page)

I was touched by his generosity. “Thank you. Trey will love this.” That was partially true. Trey would love looking at the beautiful photographs at least.

Grinning, Franklin tucked his thumbs under his suspender straps. “Are you a nonfiction reader?”

“Not really. As a reporter, my whole life has revolved around facts, so when I want to relax I turn to fiction,” I answered. “However, I do buy biographies and memoirs on occasion. I read a wonderful biography last month. Mitch Albom’s
Have a Little Faith
.”

“An excellent book.” He tapped his large ears. “I listened to an audio recording of that work while driving to the Masters this spring. I found it quite moving.”

Just then, a breeze blew in from the open window behind his desk, fluttering some pages. Franklin put his hand down to stop them from flying onto the floor. “I need to get a paperweight. I love to breathe the fresh air, despite the humidity.”

I smiled at him. I preferred to inhale Freon-free air as well. “I’d better finish my rounds. See you soon, Franklin.”

“I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends,” he said, returning my smile.

I rapped on the next door but received no response. I checked the name. Jude Hudson. He must not be in yet, either. Bypassing Bentley’s door, I returned to the lobby.

I was just about to leave for Espresso Yourself when a man emerged at the top of the stairs. His appearance was so startling that I froze on the spot, Zach’s ten-dollar bill hanging limply in my hand. It took me several seconds to react, because the man seemed so incongruous with the surroundings that I believed he might be an apparition. He had the appearance of someone I’d expect to see on the street corner with a shopping cart filled with possessions, but not here, in the pristine offices of the Novel Idea Literary Agency. What had brought him upstairs? Was he lost? Confused? Off his meds?

“May I help you, sir?” I spoke gently, as if I were addressing a frightened child or injured animal.

The man scratched his long, knotty beard and stared at me with a pair of dark, deep-set eyes. Though partially ob-scured by wild, bushy brows, those eyes seemed haunted. The man’s dirt-encrusted fingers abandoned his beard and traveled to a spot on his scalp, which he clawed roughly. The action seemed to further entangle the mat of unkempt hair, which was the color of steel wool. I couldn’t see the other hand, as it was hidden behind his back.

My eyes traveled from the man’s weathered face to his dingy clothes. Despite the warm temperature outside, he wore long pants and a long-sleeved denim jacket over a striped T-shirt. None of his apparel looked as though it had been washed recently, and judging from the shade of the feet protruding from a pair of tattered leather sandals, he hadn’t seen the inside of a shower stall for quite some time, either. My heart went out to him. How had he become this decrepit and troubled creature?

“You’re new,” he croaked as though his throat were parched and raw.

“I am,” I agreed with a warm smile. “Would you like some water? It’s so humid out already.”

He nodded humbly and withdrew a handful of wild-flowers from behind his back. I had never seen flowers like the ones he held forth. They were shaped like snowballs, made of dozens and dozens of tiny white blossoms, and at the base of each individual blossom was a reddish purple ring. The leaves were large and waxy, and the stem was brown and wiry, as though the stalks had been clipped from a bush.

“These are for you,” the man said in his gravelly voice and gently laid the flowers on the coffee table.

I stared at the blooms for a moment, totally taken aback by the bizarre scene in which I was somehow a player. And I had thought a quota of query letters would consume my entire day.

Shrugging myself into action, I removed the bottled water from my purse and handed it to the man. “I’ll accept your gift if you’ll accept mine.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, displaying a set of surprisingly white and perfectly aligned teeth. The frightened look in his eyes abated. He took a deep, grateful drink of water, and I wondered if it had been a long time since someone had shown this man any kindness.

“My name’s Marlette.” He spoke softly as though wary of attracting attention. “Have you read my letter yet?”

A homeless man had submitted a query letter? “I don’t think so. This is my first day, and at this point, I’ve only had the chance to read two.”

He cast a glance at the folders on the coffee table. A look of pleading crossed his face. “There’s one in with the flowers. I always put one in with the flowers.”

Suddenly, the sound of voices tripped down the hall. Eyes widening in alarm, Marlette turned and fled down the stairs, leaving a waft of foul-smelling air behind him.

“There goes our resident lunatic,” Bentley Burlington-Duke said to me. “He’ll be back. He always comes in twice. Just give him an hour or two in the sun to get a little riper. That man has absolutely no sense of personal hygiene.” Without warning, she grabbed the flowers from the coffee table, gave them a disgusted shake, and dropped them onto the floor. Turning to the incredibly attractive man who’d
accompanied her down the hall, she said, “Dispose of these in the Dumpster, would you, Jude?”

This must be Jude Hudson. My, my. He was so handsome that I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Focusing on his chiseled features, I briefly forgot about Marlette’s query letter.

Jude must have felt my gaze, because he turned to me and held out his hand. “Jude Hudson. I represent thrillers and suspense novels. You must be the new intern.”

“I…am,” I breathed. Shaking his hand, I swear I felt a spark. It wasn’t carpet static, because we were standing on a hardwood floor. He had dark wavy hair, chocolate brown eyes framed with long lashes, and a rugged chin with a hint of a beard that I found very sexy. I bet he spent time in the gym, judging by the way his snug dress shirt revealed the outline of well-defined muscles. For a middle-aged man, he was a fine specimen.

“Lily!” Ms. Burlington-Duke spoke my name too loudly.

I jumped. “It’s Lila.”

“See that no more vagabonds enter our office.” She waved toward the staircase. “I don’t want anything to disturb my meeting with our client Carson Knight, who is due to arrive any minute. Here. I printed out the week’s query letters mistakenly sent to my personal email account. You can add these to your current file.” She handed me a wad of papers, turned, and disappeared down the hall.

“Zach said you were heading to Espresso Yourself. I’d accompany you, but I have more contract details to review with Carson.” Jude’s velvety voice felt like a caress. He bent down to pick up the flowers while I enjoyed the view.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take a rain check.” I couldn’t believe I’d said that. I wasn’t normally so forward. Grabbing my
purse, I made my exit before Jude could realize that I’d been staring at every inch of him.

There was no line in the cramped café downstairs. Coeds with laptops occupied most of the tables, and two patrons waited for their drinks at the pick-up station next to the barista.

I made my way slowly to the counter as I took in the art on the wall, an array of wonderful watercolors and oils. One of them, a lively rendition of the town, was marked by a sign declaring:
All paintings by local artists. Support your community by buying an original
.

Acoustic guitar music played over speakers. Beside the counter stood a carved wooden shelf holding uniquely shaped and colored mugs.
Mugs by Christa
, a notice posted on the shelf proclaimed.

I was greeted by an African American clerk in her midtwenties. Her head was shaved, accentuating her fern green eyes. Her skin looked like chocolate silk and was infused with a radiance that made her appear ageless.

“You are gorgeous!” I couldn’t help exclaim. “Your eyes are dazzling, and you have the most beautiful skin I’ve ever seen.”

“Woman, you have made my day!” she beamed. When I recited Zach’s order, her fingers paused over the register keys. “Are you the new intern?”

“I am. Though it seems like no one is able to last long in the intern position. Any insights?”

The woman laughed, a sound that reminded me of wind chimes. “Not a clue. All I can say is don’t take anything too seriously. Life’s about small pleasures, right? A cup of coffee, a great song, someone telling you you’ve got nice skin. You see what I’m saying?”

I nodded. “How did you get so wise at such a tender age?”

She grinned. “You learn stuff when your job is to give folks the boost they need to make it through another workday. And I read a
ton
of books. We have sort of a lending library in the corner there.” She gestured to a niche filled with three stuffed bookshelves. “I also keep one behind the counter for when things get slow. A girl can only wipe a counter so many times, you know what I’m saying?”

I laughed. “So what are you hiding back there now?”

She held out the cover of a tattered paperback with a flourish and then put it down the counter again. It was the latest novel by Nicholas Sparks. “That man’s words melt in the mouth like sugar! And a girl needs a good dose of romance every now and again.” She uncapped a pen and drew a heart on a paper napkin. “Still, next time you get in line I could just as well have J.D. Robb or Malcolm Gladwell under the counter. Even
I
don’t know what I’m going to read next. I walk over to those shelves in the corner, close my eyes, and pick a book. I’m Makayla, by the way. I run this little corner of heaven.” She favored me with another stunning smile.

“I plan to start all of my days off here, Makayla,” I said after introducing myself. “Coffee
and
books? This place is paradise.”

“Stop by tomorrow and your next latte is on me. It’s my way of welcoming you as a new regular customer. And feel free to sit and talk to me about books anytime. I’d love it!”

Glad to have made a new friend, I carefully carried the coffees upstairs to the office. To my credit, I didn’t spill a single drop of Zach’s espresso.

Even so, things were about to get
very
messy.

BACK IN A NOVEL IDEA’S RECEPTION AREA, I SMELLED
Marlette before I saw him. Once again, that stale scent of unwashed flesh and clothing permeated the space. Despite the aromas created by my tray of hot drinks, the espresso and steamed milk failed to mask the distasteful odor.

“Mr. Marlette.” I put the beverages down on the coffee table and cast a quick glance at him out of the corner of my eye. I was surprised to see that he was reclining on the sofa with his face resting against one of the back pillows. He had clearly fallen asleep. “Sir. You can’t rest here.”

When he didn’t respond, I sighed in exasperation and decided to deliver Zach’s beverage before it grew tepid. I couldn’t just shoo Marlette away. Bentley had stated that he often came to the office twice a day. If he was going to be a regular fixture in my life, I wanted to lay down some ground rules with him. And truth be told, I was dying to read his query letter.

I gave Zach his double espresso and then quickly returned to the front, hoping Marlette had awakened, but he hadn’t moved an inch since I’d left the room. His head was still resting against the cushion, and his shoulders were slumped forward as though he were in a deep slumber. Yet something was wrong about his posture. Then I realized exactly what was amiss.

Marlette’s shoulders were not gently rising and falling with each breath. They weren’t moving at all.

I quietly approached the sofa and placed my hand lightly on the man’s ratty shirt. I patted him on the upper arm, and when he didn’t respond, I gave the arm a mild shake.

Finally, I was forced to push a mat of hair from the man’s face in order to put my fingertips under his nose in hopes of feeling an exhalation, but my hand stopped midair the moment I saw that Marlette’s eyes were open. Open and unblinking with a trail of dried tears leading down each cheek.

Having long been a fan of television medical dramas, I knew to check for a carotid pulse by locating Marlette’s Adam’s apple and then moving my fingers outward until they encountered a ropy muscle. The flesh on Marlette’s neck felt doughy, and as I searched, I noticed his lips were abnormally large and the flesh on his face was swollen.

“Nothing,” I whispered, feeling the panic rise in my chest. Next, I grabbed Marlette’s bloated hand, and turning the dirty palm over, I pressed firmly on the wrist. “Come on,” I entreated. “Come on.”

But the limpness of his wrist and the slack weight of his arm made it perfectly clear that the life had gone out of Marlette. There was already a hollowness to him, as though he had run away from his body and would never return. I
backed away from the flaccid cheeks, the inert chest, and the repellent smell of a man who had walked in with an offering of flowers earlier that hour. Yet his skin was warm to the touch. Maybe there was still life left in his body.

Wracking my brain, I tried to recall everything I once knew about performing CPR, but my mind drew a blank. All I could remember was that if I did it wrong, the lifesaving procedure could do more harm than good.