Even Sven and Hilda Turner were more interesting than Imry was.
At this point, Mel was becoming slightly discouraged. Gathering fingerprints, background information, and scraps of possible evidence was slow and tedious, and ninety-nine percent of it wasn't relevant. It wasn't all that unusual for a case to proceed slowly unless the criminal was stupid or caught red-handed committing the crime.
Often there was simply too much information to absorb at once and make connections. Census reports, title searches, and examinations of property taxes were often farmed out to professionals in those fields. Then there were transcripts of all the interviews that had been conducted by other officers.
Like most experienced detectives, Mel had his own way of working through the masses of paperwork and figuring out problems. First, he read
through all the reports again and again. Items found at the scene of the crime, information revealed in background checks, questions asked, and the answers given.
He made notes in the margins of anything he found remotely interesting. Most important and time-consuming, but most valuable, was the process of reinterviewing people other officers had interviewed and asking different questions. Quite often unexpected questions triggered more memories. Often people who had been interviewed later thought of something they saw or knew that seemed too trivial to bother reporting. Most of the interviews his subordinates had conducted didn't include a vital question: Had you ever met Dennis Roth before this play was cast?
Jane received a long-distance call that afternoon. It was from a 212 area code, and her heart skipped a beat.
"This is Melody Johnson. Have I reached Jane Jeffry?"
"This is she."
"I have good news. Please pardon the slight delay. I've passed copies of your book to a few of the marketing people, just to show them why I'm so eager to buy it. They loved it as much as I do."
Jane was speechless for a moment.
"Are you there?"
"Yes. It's just such a wonderful surprise that ittook my breath away for a second. Do you want changes?"
"That's your first question?" Melody said with a laugh. "No."
"So where do we go from here?" Jane asked. "You realize this is my first book sale."
"I'd like to work out the details of the contract with an agent. Do you have one yet?"
"No, I don't."
"I dislike dealing with a first-book author who doesn't know the ropes and might suspect she's not getting what she deserves. Would you like me to suggest some agents?"
"Could you wait a day for me to ask Felicity Roane about this? She's the one who encouraged me so strongly to submit it to you."
"That's a good idea. Then we can compare our lists. Congratulations, Jane. You're going to be published. I know how important this is, especially the first time. Get back to me as soon as you can find Felicity. Here's my telephone number."
Jane knew it was on her caller ID, but she was afraid she'd push the wrong button on the phone and lose it. She wrote it down on the back of her grocery list.
After dancing around the house, singing, "I've sold a book, lucky me," she transferred Melody's number to her address book in case she lost the shopping list.
Now the big question was who to tell first.
Shelley? Shelley would be the most thrilled. But maybe she should tell Mel first. Or her kids. But none of them were home. Finally she decided the first call should be to Felicity Roane. Felicity had given Jane her card with her real name and home and cell phone numbers written on the back. Jane had that in her address book as well. Felicity might be hard to run down.
Fortunately, Felicity was at home. Jane introduced herself and Felicity said, "You've sold your book, I'll bet."
"I have. Melody Johnson wants to buy it. She also wants to deal with the contract through an agent."
"Of course she would. It's best for her, and also for you, to do it that way."
"She told me she had three suggestions. I told her I wanted your suggestions as well before we decided."
"Did she agree?" Felicity asked.
"She did."
"Okay, do you have paper and a pen handy?" "Yes, go ahead."
Felicity listed three good mystery agents who were heads of their own agencies. One was her own. Then she went on to list five agents Jane should
not,
under any circumstances, contact.
Jane thanked her effusively and said she'd let her know which one she picked to be her agent — if any of them wanted her.
She called Melody Johnson back. "I've talked to Felicity already. These are the names she gave me." She read them out.
Melody laughed. "Exactly my list. I'll try Felicity's agent first since Felicity is so happy with her. Thanks for being so prompt. If you want to look the agent up, her name is Annie Silverstone, and you can go to her website." She spelled out the letters slowly so Jane could write it down exactly.
The next call was to Shelley. "Guess what?"
"You sold your book! I could tell from the way you screamed the words."
"I have," Jane said in a slightly calmer voice, then told Shelley about Melody Johnson wanting Jane to work with an agent on the contract terms. She added that she'd called Felicity and that Felicity had suggested the same names Melody did.
"I'm hanging up to come over and hug you to death," Shelley said. And she very nearly did.
"I still have to tell Mel."
"And your kids."
"None of them are home right now. Shelley, I know this is sort of stupid, but I don't want anyone else besides Mel and the kids to know about this."
"Why?"
"I'll tell the earth when it's actually a book. Not a manuscript. I'm afraid of jinxing it by blabbing too soon."
"Jane, how can you swear me to secrecy about
something this important? I want to brag on my best friend. I'm so proud of you!"
"Then you can tell your family, but no one else, okay?"
"Everyone in my family and Paul's? That's quite a few people."
"Most of whom won't be the least interested," Jane said with a smile.
"What about the needlepoint group?" Shelley was like a dog with an especially tasty bone.
"Only Tazz and Ms. Bunting, please. And we'll tell them at the theater."
"All right. I'll go home so you can tell Mel privately," Shelley said.
Mel, still deep in paperwork, answered his office phone briskly. "What's up, Janey? I'm really busy."
"Not too busy for good news?"
"I guess not," he said, still rustling through papers.
"I've sold my book. Well, sort of sold it. I need an agent to negotiate the contract."
She heard the thud of a big pile of paper. "Way to go! That's wonderful. I've always known you'd do it."
"If you knew that, I sure didn't."
"I'm working right now. But I'm leaving early. Dig up your fanciest clothes and we'll have that fabulous, expensive dinner tonight."
"I can't do it early. I need to tell the kids whenthey all come home. And then I have to be at the theater, tasting things."
"The later the better," Mel said. "More romantic. I'll pick you up at eight-thirty, if that's okay?"
Sixteen
The kids
were genuinely
thrilled that their mother had actually sold a real book to a real publisher. They all hugged her. Katie was even a little tearful. "I can't wait to tell all my friends."
"Oh, please don't tell them yet," Jane said. "I don't even know enough about what happens next. Wait until there's a real book with a cover to show them."
"When will that be?"
Jane admitted she had no idea. That wasn't even something she'd considered. And it hadn't been something she'd heard at the mystery conference or even knew to ask. Come to think of it, there were suddenly a lot of questions, and she wished she knew someone who could answer them.
"Are you going to make a lot of money?" Todd asked. Jane had known one of them would ask her this. She had expected it to be Katie.
"I have no idea yet. I don't know if it will be acouple thousand dollars or a lot. My guess is maybe five thousand. Maybe a little more."
"But you'll make more on the one you're writing now, won't you?" Mike asked.
"Well, I certainly should. That's the way it's supposed to work, I understand. But I think you need to write a lot of them, and get lucky on the sales, before you make a whole lot more. But I'll bring you up to speed when I know more."
"Who have you told?" Katie asked.
"My writing friend Felicity. Shelley. Mel. And you three. I might tell two other people privately. Ms. Bunting and a woman named Tazz."
"The secret expands," Mike said with a smile.
"Eat your sandwiches. What are you all doing tonight?"
For the first time this summer, none of them had much to do. Katie said, "I'm trying a new recipe I learned in summer school. It's a dessert. So Todd and Mike have to stay home to eat it. Why aren't you eating anything now?"
"I have to go to the theater again. Just to taste what food Shelley's caterer comes up with, then rush home and dress up to have a really fabulous meal with Mel. He's been promising me one and he's finally tearing himself away from his desk to supply it. I'll be out late — we're not leaving until eight-thirty. If you go somewhere, leave me a note about where you are and telephone numbers."
"I'll leave you a piece of my dessert with the note," Katie said.
Jane and Shelley drove their own vehicles to the theater. Jane had already explained why she needed to leave early.
"If I were you, I wouldn't even have turned up," Shelley had told her. "It's a good thing to have an excellent celebration dinner with Mel."
"I promised to help you taste things."
"You can leave after a teaspoon of each snack. Then bolt home and dress to the nines."
Jane, naturally, had arrived a little later than Shelley, even though Jane had pulled out of her driveway first. She often wondered why Shelley didn't get her driver's license revoked regularly. But Shelley had never been issued a speeding ticket while Jane was riding with her — her own foot constantly pressing on the imaginary brake on her side of the van.
This was almost the end of rehearsals. Wednesday night would be a rehearsal with all the real furniture and lighting. Thursday was the formal dress rehearsal, and Friday was opening night. Shelley had insisted up front that the college arrange for drinks and any food they'd like to sell at the intermission. On Thursday there would be a mob to feed. In addition to the cast, there would be Tazz, the stagehands, the prop master, the lighting director and his two students, and Eve-lyn Chance with three of her biggest contributing investors.
The front of the building was covered with posters, the college was probably awash in posters, and the box office was open and selling tickets already. Fortunately the box office people didn't have to be fed. Evelyn Chance was probably the only person involved in the play who had worked on Sunday. She must have been busy slapping posters everywhere.
Jane went looking for Ms. Bunting during the one scene in the first act that she wasn't in. She found her in the workroom, needlepointing.
"Yes, before you ask, I washed my hands first," she said.
"I have a secret to tell you," Jane said. "Because I like you so much. I just sold a mystery novel this morning and I promise it's better than this script."
"Oh, Jane, that's wonderful news. Is it a real publisher?"
"It is. And a good editor. I'd like to know an address for you so I can send you an autographed copy when it comes out. I hope you'll like it."
"How sweet of you. I'll keep your secret. Are you telling anyone else here?"
"I thought I might tell Tazz. I like her, too."
"She'll probably be as thrilled as I am for you. Do you have something I can write my real address on?"
Jane fumbled around in her purse and finally just ripped a deposit form out of her checkbook. "If I ever get business cards, I'll have them made to look like check deposit forms," Jane said.
"With your sense of humor, I know I'll love your book," Ms. Bunting said, neatly writing her address on the back.
"Now I have to tell Tazz," Jane said.
She found Tazz sitting in an audience chair wearing a lighted magnifying mirror on her head and repairing a tear in the hem of one of the costumes. She put the dress aside and took off her headgear. "You look like the cat that ate the canary. So happy."
"I am. I have a neat secret that I'm only telling you and Ms. Bunting. I've just sold an historical mystery today. I worked on it for years and I have a head start already on the next one. I'm really feeling smug."
"And so you should. And maybe you can help me. I've always meant to write a book about being a costumer. I think a lot of people would like to read it. I've made notes. How about you write it up for me and we share the profits evenly?"
Jane felt as if she'd been slapped upside of her head. She thought for a moment and said, "I wouldn't have the time to do that. Making notes is just a starting point. Writing it is what counts. You need to write it yourself if you care enough."
"Oh!" Tazz said. "So sorry you feel that I imposed on you." She snatched up the dress and put her lighted magnifier back on her head. As Jane got up to leave, Tazz added, with clear sarcasm, "Congratulations."
You won't be getting a free copy,
Jane thought, close to tears.
When she returned to the workroom, the snacks were being set up. Ms. Bunting was putting her needlepoint paraphernalia away. "Oh, my dear. You look as if you've been kicked in the head. And you were so chirpy earlier. What's wrong?"