Every Trick in the Book Page 7

  I balled up a napkin and tossed it at her. “Stop it! You know perfectly well that Sean and I haven’t slept together yet.”

  “There’s always tonight after the costume party. With you and Sean dressed up as Paris and Helen of Troy, you could do some serious role-playing.” Makayla gave me a saucy wink. “Helen’s got to show Paris her gratitude for being whisked away by a handsome lover. And after knocking back a few of the witches’ brew cocktails they’re serving tonight, Helen might just end up handcuffed to a bedpost.”

  Warmth rushed to my cheeks and I knew that they had turned a deep shade of pink. It’s not as though I hadn’t thought about making love to Sean. I had. Plenty of times. I knew my libido was more than ready, but my mind wasn’t quite there. We just hadn’t spent enough time together to take things to the next level. I hoped Makayla wasn’t right about the witches’ brew cocktails. Getting drunk and making out with my boyfriend in public would hardly be professional behavior.

  However, the idea of doing exactly that struck me the moment I saw Sean walk into the lobby. His authoritative presence seemed to fill the vacuous hall. Even Vicky wasn’t immune to his poise and rugged good looks. Sipping my cappuccino, I wondered if Vicky would be put under the spell of Sean’s tropical sea blue eyes. I was tempted to pull him aside and lose myself in those shades of cerulean and cobalt, but I greeted him formally and led him to the courtroom, where his panel was being held.

  “You’ll be in the audience?” Sean asked. “After all, I want to look down from my lofty perch and see the face that launched a thousand ships.”

  I laughed. “Hold on to your Paris persona until tonight. This morning, you’re all cop.”

  His smile faded. “I’m afraid that’s a skin I never quite shed. And after yesterday, my eyes are going to be on everyone. If that Mason creep shows up today, he’ll be dealing with more than a woman armed with buckets.” Sean gestured at the table where a private investigator, a crime scene tech, and a corrections officer waited to introduce themselves to the crowd. “I know all those guys. It would only take a word from me and Mr. Mason would be pinned to the floor, cuffed, and Mirandized before he could say ‘boo.’”

  I squeezed his arm. “I love it when you turn protective. Now get up there and educate these writers on how to create a realistic law enforcement character.”

  I needn’t have worried. Sean and the other professionals were captivating. As he’d hinted to me earlier in the week, he did handcuff several volunteers from the audience. He then allowed other attendees to unlock their fellow writers. Some volunteers practiced reading pretend criminals their rights. Sean allowed people to try on his loaded utility belt, minus his sidearm, so they could see why most cops walked with a noticeable swagger.

  It was a good thing that I’d given this panel a ninety-minute allotment, because once Sean and the other men had conducted a variety of demonstrations and answered dozens of insightful questions, it was time to empty the room for the next panel. However, it was obvious that the writers were reluctant to leave. At least ten participants still had unanswered questions, so Sean and the rest of the guest speakers promised to continue their Q&A session at the tables near the Sixpence Bakery kiosk.

  Swallowed by the tide of chattering writers, I drifted out to the food area and noticed Melissa Plume waiting in line at Nell’s kiosk. She looked up from the enticing array of pastries and our eyes met. With a little wave, she beckoned me over.

  “We’re not matching today,” I said.

  Glancing down at her black turtleneck dress, patent leather pumps, and leopard print scarf, she shook her head. “I should have called you to coordinate. I love your outfit. I bet I’d have a great time raiding your closet.” She excused herself while she paid Nell for an apple and raisin turnover and then asked if I’d like anything to eat.

  “No, thanks. I’m posing as Helen of Troy this evening and I don’t think I can channel the world’s most beautiful woman after consuming both a vanilla cappuccino and a chocolate hazelnut croissant.”

  Melissa immediately ordered the croissant and passed it to me. “Have you ever seen renderings of Helen on a Greek amphora? She’s as curvy as the road leading into this town. My kind of girl.”

  We settled at a two-top table and discussed how the festival was going so far. Melissa loved the town’s B and B and assured me she’d return every year if given the chance. “This place is heavenly. I expected some one-horse town with a pancake house and a barbeque joint, but the food is sophisticated and delicious, the shops are filled with hip, artsy items, and the scenery is breathtaking. I haven’t seen this much color since the city’s Pride Parade.”

  I laughed and tucked into my croissant. “I detect a hint of a Southern accent—are you from the South?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I’m from Dunston. I used to work there before I met my husband and moved to New York. I was trying to get my book published, actually, and that’s how we met.”

  Impressed, I asked, “What was your book about?”

  “Oh, it was an exposé sort of thing that never got published. It focused on my work with kids in the foster system. My husband was a lowly editor then, to whom I naïvely sent the manuscript. Something about my proposal got to him, and while he was in Raleigh on personal business, he took the time to swing over to Dunston to tell me his publishing house didn’t want the book. Over lunch, it became clear that he was mighty interested in me.” A dimple appeared in her left cheek as she smiled at the memory. “And the rest is history.” She sat back in her chair and glanced around. “I just can’t believe I spent so many years living within a train ride of this little paradise and never knew it. But back then, the only people who talked about this place were flaky, free-spirit types who were searching for their past-life identities or the secret voice of Mother Earth. Not exactly reliable spokespeople, if you know what I mean.”

  As we enjoyed our treats, we watched the attendees milling about, their faces flushed with animation. A woman in a multihued poncho with fuchsia lipstick and a loud voice reminded me of Calliope. Wiping chocolate from my fingers with a paper napkin, I asked Melissa if she would mind my pitching Calliope’s new series in the middle of our coffee break.

  “This is the first time I’ve relaxed in years,” my look-alike gushed in reply. “You could ask me to donate a kidney and I’d say yes, so pitch away!”

  I was so familiar with Calliope’s work that the story line unfurled like a flower opening its petals to the sun. Melissa took bites of her turnover as I spoke and then held up a finger to stop me.

  “I’m not the acquiring editor for historical suspense, but I am absolutely positive that my friend Kate would adore this series. Let me call her right now.”

  It was hard to say no to such an opportunity, and I was certainly passionate about my client’s project, but it was a Saturday. Would Melissa’s fellow editor be annoyed to receive a work-related call over the weekend, and if so, would it hurt Calliope’s chances? I voiced my concern to Melissa even as she was dialing Kate’s number.

  “Trust me. Our husbands are out playing golf together and she’s stuck at home with the twins. She’d love to talk shop.”

  After a brief exchange with her coworker, Melissa passed the cell phone to me and gave me a thumbs-up sign. I introduced myself and repeated my pitch. Kate didn’t hesitate.

  “I love Calliope’s books and I definitely like this idea,” she told me. “But why is she looking outside her own publishing house?”

  “Her current editor wasn’t interested in historical suspense. She wanted Calliope to come up with a new contemporary romance series, but that’s not what my client wanted to write.”

  Kate whistled. “Lucky for me, then. Can you email me the proposal?”

  My pulse quickened and I tried not to shout into the phone. “Absolutely. I can get it to you today.”

  “Brilliant! I’ll have something to look forward to after I put my kids down for their afternoon nap. I’ll start reading as
soon as the email lands in my inbox.”

  After promising to drive over to my office right away, I handed Melissa her phone. She chatted with Kate for another minute and then hung up.

  “Thank you, that was really nice of you,” I said. “Now I wish I’d bought you a pastry and not the other way around.” I got to my feet and shook her hand. “But I’ll make it up to you at tonight’s costume party. I heard they’re serving some killer cocktails.”

  Melissa shook her head, a solemn look appearing in her eyes. “I make it a point to stay sober around aspiring writers. I’ve had…uncomfortable exchanges with a few of them. Especially if I’ve recently rejected one of their projects. Once, someone even accosted me while I was in the park with my son. He was really creepy. At one point he actually stroked the fur of Silas’s teddy bear.” She shuddered and then held out her fist. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m a tough New Yorker, but one can never be too careful these days. Sometimes passion can taint a person’s judgment. Artistic people can want a thing so badly that they forget we all live by a code of conduct. Not to speak in clichés, but some of these writers can cross the line.”

  My mind flashed to the shadowy figure in the dark corridor and I gazed nervously around the food area, and then shifted my attention to the lobby. Thankfully, there was no sign of a tall man with pierced brows. I looked at Melissa and nodded. “You’re right. And when people are wearing disguises like they will be tonight, inhibitions might not be held in check.”

  Melissa rolled her eyes. “A room full of inebriated introverts dressed as literary characters? This is going to be some party.”

  THE OLD TOWN hall was transformed that evening. The hours we’d put into decorating had paid off, and with the lights dimmed and candles lit, the effect was one of eerie elegance. As Sean and I, or I should say, Paris and Helen, stepped through the black and orange–ballooned archway, a whistle escaped from his lips.

  “This looks fantastic,” he said as his arm slid to my back, gently guiding me into the hall.

  Glowing ghosts and skeletons hung from the ceiling, and streamers of bats and black cats swooped above our heads. Orange folding chairs and black-covered tables surrounded the dance floor. At the center of each table sat a pumpkin candle nestled in colored autumn leaves, a flame dancing on its wick.

  I absorbed the atmosphere and smiled. “Look,” I said, pointing at the bar. “There’s Captain Ahab, speaking to Dracula and Edgar Allan Poe.”

  “And there’s another Edgar Allan Poe talking to a third Edgar Allan Poe.” Sean chuckled, directing my attention to the food table.

  I swiveled my head around the room. It seemed that the majority of attendees had chosen to emulate the founder of the modern mystery genre by wearing black suits, high-collared shirts, wavy black wigs, and a little black moustache.

  “It looks like a Poe convention,” I said in wonder, trying to recognize people behind their disguises.

  “This is brilliant, isn’t it?”

  I turned toward Flora’s voice, only to find myself looking at a roly-poly Harry Potter. Her round, dark-rimmed glasses and Quidditch cape left no question as to the identity of her character, although her gardening clogs were in slight contradiction with the rest of her outfit. “Flora, you look great.”

  “Well, thank you,” she giggled. “So do you, Helen of Troy. That’s a beautiful dress.” She fingered the flowing folds of my chiton. “And I must say, Officer Griffiths, you make a handsome Paris.”

  At that moment, Hagrid joined us and handed Flora a martini glass filled with an orange liquid. “Some witches’ brew for you, my dear.” He turned to us and held out his hand. “I’m Flora’s husband, Brian. Hagrid for tonight.” He was a good head taller than his wife. With his matted wig and beard and dusty oversize coat, it was easy to view him as a giant.

  Just as we introduced ourselves, Zorro leaped over to our small gathering. “This shindig’s a smash!” Zach declared, tipping his gaucho hat and winking behind his black mask. “Have you seen all the Poes?”

  I surveyed Zach’s jet-black pants and shirt and remarked, “There must have been a sale on black suits.”

  Sean touched my shoulder. “Would you like a drink?”

  I nodded. “Thanks. Something fruity and nonalcoholic,” I said resolutely. “I must maintain my professionalism tonight.”

  As I waited for him to return, I mingled about, joining a conversation with Miss Marple, Rhett Butler, Scarlett O’Hara, and, of course, an Edgar Allan Poe. I had no idea who these people were in their costumes as they discussed the future of e-publishing. Actually, Rhett and Miss Marple did most of the talking while Scarlett concentrated on her drink and Poe seemed more interested in studying the faces of the other revelers. Rhett was emphatic that digital books would be the death of print books, but Miss Marple maintained that not everyone wanted to read from a screen and there would always be people who valued the look and feel of a beautifully bound book or an artistic cover. “And don’t forget that a wall of book-lined shelves adds to the décor of any room,” she declared with passion.

  Poe, who had been silent throughout the conversation, suddenly blurted out, “What a load of crap! Books aren’t written to serve as decoration! The very idea is an insult to authors. Have you no clue of what we writers put into our work? How much of ourselves is present in each and every word?” Anger tinged every word, and when I looked down at his clenched fists, I saw that he held a black feather in his right hand.

  I stood stock-still and tried to swallow with a mouth that had suddenly gone dry. That voice! This Poe was Kirk Mason! Blood roared in my ears. Should I confront him or get Sean? It was obvious that Mason didn’t recognize me in my Helen of Troy costume and my wig of long blond corkscrew curls. Not wanting to spook him, I smiled at the group and backed away, as if I was simply doing the party shuffle and planned to socialize with another group.

  As soon as I was some distance away, I turned and rushed toward the bar, almost running right into Sean. “Whoa!” he said as he tried to avoid spilling two tumblers of orange liquid garnished with black straws and slices of lime. “I didn’t realize you were that thirsty.”

  “I saw Kirk Mason. Over there!” I pointed in the direction of the group I had just left, but they had already dispersed. Rhett and Scarlett were now laughing with Robin Hood and Maid Marian, and Miss Marple was conversing with a vampiress whose white face was a stark contrast to her black high-collared cape. Poe was nowhere to be seen.

  I should correct myself. Poes were all over the room, but I couldn’t recognize the one I believed to be Mason. “He was just here.” I described how I’d instantly recognized his voice.

  “We’ll find our man,” Sean assured me, handing me a drink. “Look closely at all the Poes, and see if you can distinguish him from the others.”

  I sipped the chilled mango-flavored beverage in my hand and scanned the characters in the room. It was hopeless. Except for a rather diminutive Poe and an overtly rotund one, they all looked alike. “I don’t know…” I muttered as I approached Miss Marple.

  “Excuse me,” I said as I held out my hand. “Sorry to interrupt. I was standing with you a few minutes ago. I’m Lila Wilkins, from Novel Idea.”

  She nodded. “I remember. We were talking about e-books. I’m Shawna York, a soon-to-be-published author.” She grinned. “And this is my editor, Melissa Plume.”

  “Melissa?” I stared at my look-alike incredulously. Red-tipped fangs stuck out of her mouth, starkly crimson against her colorless skin. “I would never have recognized you. What a fantastic costume.”

  “Thanks. I thought I’d take some artistic license and dress up as a forty-year-old Bella from Twilight. By the time she reaches my age she’s bound to be a vampire.” She grinned wryly. “You make a pretty good Helen, too.”

  I smiled in acknowledgment. “Congratulations on your book, Shawna. I’d love to hear more about it later, but at the moment I’m wondering if you know the real name of the Edgar Allan Poe you were
talking to a few minutes ago.”

  “That obnoxious man?” She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

  Sean joined us. “Did you see where he went by any chance?”

  Both women looked up and stared at the Greek warrior in confusion.

  “This is Officer Sean Griffiths of the Dunston Police Department,” I quickly explained. “He’s my Paris tonight.”

  Shawna smiled at him. “Nice to meet you, Paris. I’m sorry, but I didn’t notice what happened to that abrasive man. I left that group just after you did, Lila.”

  “You’ll have some trouble finding him in this sea of Poes,” Melissa mused, glancing around.

  I rolled my eyes. “You’ve got that right.”

  The speakers crackled and Bentley’s voice filled the room. “May I have your attention, please?”

  All eyes turned to the front. An elegant Queen Guinevere stood at the microphone, her green velvet gown and floral head wreath belying the professional garb she usually wore at the office.

  “Welcome to the first annual Inspiration Valley Book and Author Festival. I’m Bentley Burlington-Duke, owner and founder of Novel Idea Literary Agency, the main sponsor of this event. I must say, I am overwhelmed with the success of the festival. Attendance is beyond our expectations, and I hope you are all enjoying yourselves as well as acquiring useful information and contacts.”

  People began clapping, and Bentley waited for the clamor to quiet down before continuing. “The festival offers something for everyone, and tonight’s masquerade party is a wonderful bridge between the workshops and sessions for authors that were held yesterday and today, and tomorrow’s classes on book repair, preservation, and illustration. In the vendors’ hall I’ve had the pleasure of speaking to authors and editors, librarians and bibliophiles, and, most important of all, readers.”

  A thunder of applause interrupted her once again. She held up her hand. “I won’t keep you from your revelry too much longer, but I’d like to thank my agents and all of our helpers who transformed this town hall into a Halloween ballroom. They did a marvelous job. In a few minutes, the tapas stations will be open, and afterward, our local band, the Valley Warblers, will entertain you. Enjoy yourselves tonight.”