Every Trick in the Book (8 page)

Later, after sampling indulgent appetizers like brandy and peppercorn steak tartare,
butter-basted sea scallops, and artichoke hearts with shitake mushrooms in a white
wine garlic sauce, we went around the table and shared some of the most memorable
moments from our pitch sessions.

“I’ve got one for the history books,” Franklin declared. “Hold on, I need another
gulp of vino to bolster my courage.” He took two long swallows and then cleared his
throat.
“Well, then. I actually had a gentleman propose that I represent his how-to book on
the alternative uses of, ah, prophylactics.”

“Someone pitched a book on what to do with a condom?” Zach asked and began roaring
with laughter before Franklin had the opportunity to answer. “How many pages could
that take?”

Jude grinned. “Perhaps there are meant to be dozens of colorful illustrations.”

“No, no, you misunderstand the young man’s intent,” Franklin interjected, his cheeks
flushing the same hue as the velvet on his chair. “His book centers on nonsexual uses.
For example, a few hundred can be stitched together and dyed to make a fashion-forward
dress. They can be turned into balloon animals at children’s birthday parties, swimming
gloves, replacement rubber bands, Christmas tree—”

Bentley stopped him with a stern look.

When the laughter had died down, Flora told us that her most memorable appointment
had been with a twelve-year-old girl. “This young lady showed me a picture book filled
with skull-splitting trolls and killer vampires and fairies ripping one another’s
wings off. Her mother told me all she ever does is closet herself in her room penning
these extremely violent fantasy stories.” She shook her head. “I believe it’s all
the child does. She was as pale as my napkin. Reminded me of that strange little girl
from the Addams Family.”

“Was this a case of age discrimination?” Jude teased.

Flora put a hand over her heart. “Certainly not, but the girl’s books are far too
frightening for the intended age group. I suggested she focus her attention on middle
grade fiction.”

“Hey, the average sixth grader could have run circles around my worst pitch of the
day,” Zach said. He’d eaten everything on his plate with gusto and was now reaching
for a second hunk of bread. “I met with this retired high school football scout who
wanted me to represent his tell-all on the dark side of recruiting. The subject was
awesome
, but the guy could barely string two words together. When I told him he’d have to
give me a few examples, he had the gall to say that he wasn’t going to speak a word
until I coughed up
ten grand
in advance!”

Bentley let loose a nearly inaudible snort, and her eyes gleamed with amusement. “That’s
all? And were you supposed to write him a check then and there?”

“Totally!” Zach bellowed in theatrical indignation. “I tried to explain that I wasn’t
buying anyone’s book, but this meathead could not be made to understand how the publishing
world works no matter how simple my vocabulary was. Man! He was thicker than a two-by-four.
Stormed out when I wouldn’t pay up, too!”

Before I could discuss my pitches, a quartet of waiters cleared away our hors d’oeuvre
dishes and set warm dinner plates before us. Empty wineglasses were refilled, and
succulent entrée platters were arranged in the center of the table. The waiter hovering
behind my right shoulder informed us that we were being served veal medallions in
a creamy cognac sauce, filet mignon with a dusting of peppercorns, sautéed chicken
breasts in marsala wine, and a pan-seared rockfish. Side dishes included spaghetti
squash, white-striped beets with goat cheese, and tamarind-marinated eggplant.

For several minutes, no one spoke a word. Our taste buds were in ecstasy. No words
could describe the layers of
flavor, the tenderness of the meat, or the freshness of the herbs and spices. We were
reduced to groans, our eyes half closed in pleasure. Between the wine and the rich
food, I had nearly forgotten about the man in black and could barely recall experiencing
even a moment of fear in this glittering haven of tantalizing aromas and superb cuisine.
In the company of my coworkers, I felt relaxed and happy.

I’m ashamed to admit how much I ate, but it was worth it. Only Vicky and Bentley refrained
from cleaning their plates, and both women passed on dessert, settling for decaf coffee
instead.

As the waiters served us shallow cups of ginger and vanilla bean crème brûlée, I wondered
how I’d ever zip my skirt tomorrow morning.

“Tell us about your pitches, Lila,” Flora prompted, splintering the crust of her crème
brûlée with the edge of her spoon.

“I guess the most unusual thing about my session was that I had not one, but two men
pitch cozy mysteries to me. The first was about a group of stay-at-home dads turned
amateur sleuths, and the second was a village-style cozy featuring a widow who runs
a B and B.”

“Are you sure they were real dudes?” Zach winked at me. Clearly, the younger agent
had consumed too much wine.

Vicky stared at him in confusion. “As opposed to what?”

Before Zach could elaborate, Franklin broke into an elaborate coughing fit and then
asked me to pass the creamer. After pouring a splash into his coffee, he asked, “Were
their pitches any good?”

I nodded. “Yes, actually. I told both of them to send me their first three chapters.
Unfortunately, I was a bit distracted during the last pitch because the man who came
after me in
the hall dropped this feather on my desk.” I reached into my purse and drew forth
the black feather. “He didn’t say a word. Just dropped it and kept walking.”

Flora shuddered in distaste. “Be careful tomorrow, Lila. This man might be so desperate
to get published that he may have taken on the behavior of his character.”

“I hope not!” Jude declared as Bentley handed the waiter her credit card. “In his
proposal, Kirk Mason’s killer murdered someone with a meat cleaver.”

And just like that, I was ready to get home, lock the door, and call a policeman.
My
policeman.

IT WAS NO
longer raining when we left the restaurant, and the moon cast a luminous glow in
the velvety blackness of the sky. The night was pleasant but I paid it little heed.
I was just eager to get off the street, as my mood was colored by a lingering disquiet
from our final conversation. Water sprayed onto my shoes and pant legs as I rode my
scooter through puddles left by the rain, so that by the time I got home I was damp
and cold. It was a relief to walk into my warm and comfy house.

I immediately removed my wet clothes and put on pajamas, even though it was barely
eight o’clock. Sean would not be coming by, as he was on duty tonight, so I had no
fear of him seeing me in plaid flannel pants and a T-shirt that said,
Chocolate is the fifth food group
. Curling up on the couch with my phone, I threw a chenille blanket over my legs and
punched in Sean’s number. As it rang, I hoped my call wasn’t interrupting an arrest
or other important police business.

“Hey, you,” he answered with enthusiasm. “How’d it go today?”

It was such a balm to hear his deep, masculine voice. “That’s a loaded question,”
I replied. “The first day of the festival was a huge success, but it had its pitfalls,
too.” I proceeded to tell Sean my experiences with the disturbing Kirk Mason, starting
with the way he kept watching me from across the room, describing the feather he dropped
on the table, and then relating how I belted him with the buckets before running away.
“I was terrified and don’t know what might have happened if Zach hadn’t shown up when
he did.”

“It sounds as if you were quite a match for him—the way you decked him with those
pails,” Sean said with a hint of admiration in his voice. “But seriously, Lila, this
guy could be dangerous. You’d better be careful and take some precautions.”

“Like what?”

“Like perhaps keeping a cop close by?” he said in a playful voice.

He’d barely finished his sentence when the doorbell rang. The sound was so unexpected
that it made me jump, and my heart pounded a few extra beats per second.

“Sean, stay on the phone while I answer the door,” I said as I made my way to the
front hall. “I have no idea who it might be.”

“I’m right here.”

Peering through the peephole, my wariness turned to delight when I saw Sean standing
on my front porch, in uniform, holding his cell phone to his ear. He was not wearing
his policeman’s hat, however. Instead he’d donned a Greek helmet with red plumes sprouting
from its crown. His free hand was raised in a salute.

I whipped open the door. “I didn’t expect to see you
tonight! Aren’t you on duty?” My joy at seeing him overshadowed any reaction to the
fanciful addition to his attire.

Stepping inside, he removed the helmet and said with a grin, “I do get donut breaks,
you know.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.” He truly was a welcome sight. Standing there in his policeman’s
uniform, his handsomeness was intensified. He seemed taller, leaner, and more muscular;
his eyes were bluer, and his face was more ruggedly captivating.

I reached up and kissed him, then took the helmet from his hands. Examining the craftsmanship,
I said, “This is great, Sean. You’re going to look just like Paris.” I placed it on
the hall table.

“Just a few years older than the original,” he said with a smile. “I rented a breastplate
and arm guards, too. I’ll need to look my best, as I’ll be escorting the beautiful
Helen of Troy to the costume party tomorrow night.” He pulled me close and kissed
me again. “Move over, Orlando Bloom and Diane Kruger.”

I laughed and took his hand. “Come into the living room. Can I get you a coffee or
something?” I peered at him impishly. “I have no donuts, I’m afraid.”

“No, I don’t want anything, thanks. I just came over to show you my helmet. But I
need you to tell me more about this creep at the festival. We have to find him and
ensure that he won’t be a threat to you anymore.” He sat down on the couch and glanced
around. “This room feels homey,” he said. “Your personality is all over it.”

“Thanks. I forgot you hadn’t seen the place yet. Want a tour?”

“Not now. Let’s save that for another time.” He patted the couch next to him. “Come
sit down.”

I lowered myself beside him and rested my head on his shoulder. “Thanks for coming,
Sean. You are just what I needed.”

“No problem.” He placed his hand on my thigh. “Nice jammies, by the way,” he teased
as he stroked the flannel pants leg. “Too bad I’m not appropriately dressed for a
pajama party.”

“Maybe next time.” I placed my hand over his, entwining our fingers.

Bringing them up to his lips, he kissed them and then freed his hand. “Okay, let’s
get down to business. You say this guy’s name is Mason?” He pulled a notepad and pen
out of his shirt pocket.

“Kirk Mason. But we’re not sure that’s his real name, because the address he wrote
on his registration form was incomplete. Vicky thinks he paid by cashier’s check,
so that’s untraceable, too.”

“And you’ve never seen him before? You have no idea why he was targeting you?”

I shook my head. “All I know is that he was going to pitch a gory serial killer novel
to Jude and for some reason he has something against me.”

“Can you describe him?” Sean had his pen ready.

I leaned back. The last thing I felt like doing was conjuring up the image of that
man again, even if it was merely in my mind. But I closed my eyes and verbally sketched
every detail I could remember.

“Good recall, Lila.” He sighed as he folded closed his notepad. “I hate to leave so
soon, but I do have to get back to work. I told my partner I’d only be ten minutes.”

“Wait. I want to give you that feather he left on my table.” I grabbed the plastic
bag in which I’d placed the black
raven feather. “Isn’t it just too weird?” I asked, handing it to Sean.

“It is inexplicable acts like this that cause me the most worry,” he said in a troubled
voice, “because they illustrate the perpetrator’s unpredictability. I’m glad I’ll
be at the old town hall tomorrow.”

I walked with him to the door. Opening it to the darkness, I saw Sean’s police cruiser.

“There’s my ride,” he quipped. “I’ll leave the helmet here until tomorrow, okay?”

I nodded and we stepped out on the front porch. The night air was crisp, and the moon
shone high in the dark sky. We faced each other, clasping hands. “See you tomorrow,”
I murmured.

“Be careful, Lila. Lock that door tight.” He caressed my cheek and lowered his lips
to mine.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, and there, under the glowing orb in the sky, we
kissed. His arms encircled me, enveloping me in warmth and affection. Our kiss intensified,
and when our lips finally parted, I held his eyes with mine. “‘Soul meets soul on
lovers’ lips,’” I murmured, quoting Shelley. Sean’s smile crinkled the corners of
his eyes, and he brushed his lips against mine once more before letting go.