Shaking his head slightly, as though to chase off lustful thoughts, Jude gestured at the bag. “You had such a rough start at Novel Idea that I wanted today to be a fresh beginning for you. This is a raspberry crème croissant from the bakery in town, and if this doesn’t give you the energy to burn through those queries, then I don’t know what else can…” he trailed off, and again, the room felt close, the air weighted down with heat.
My skin felt prickly beneath my clothes. I tried to call up a picture of Sean’s face to help me get a grip on reality, but it was impossible. I couldn’t see anything but Jude.
“Thanks,” I murmured, embarrassed by the huskiness of my voice. After all, this man, beautiful though he was, could be Marlette’s murderer. He’d been the last one holding the bouquet and therefore had had plenty of time to pocket Marlette’s query letter. Recalling this fact allowed me to draw in a full breath, breaking Jude’s spell long enough for me to reach for the bakery bag and peer inside.
A rush of sumptuous aromas sprang from within. Plump, tart raspberries blended with soft cream cheese inside a pocket of warm, flaky dough nearly seduced me all over again, but I folded the bag closed and smiled at Jude. “Wow, thank you. I’m going to save that as a reward for finishing twenty-five query letters.”
“Good for you.” He leaned against the doorframe. “I’m more of an instant gratification kind of guy.”
Lord help me. In another second I was going to have to fan my flushed cheeks with a file folder. Mercifully, Jude gave me a little wave and made to leave.
I couldn’t let him go without asking him about the flowers, so I called his name. “This might sound strange,” I said, “but there was a piece of paper attached to the bottom of Marlette’s bouquet—the one you threw out on Friday. Do you know what it said?”
Jude shrugged, his expression betraying nothing. “I assumed it was another query letter. I haven’t read any of them, but our interns have never seen a reason to pass Marlette’s on to an agent, so I didn’t bother looking at Friday’s version. Besides, I was kind of preoccupied with Carson’s deal.”
“So the letter was still wrapped around the flower stems when you tossed the bouquet in the Dumpster?”
“Yeah.” He cocked his head inquisitively. “Why?”
I feigned nonchalance. “I just wanted to read his query. Professional curiosity, I guess.”
He nodded. “Hopefully you’ll have a winner in your current pile or in the hundreds of emails that probably came in over the weekend.”
“Ugh,” I groaned, wondering if I’d ever catch up. “I’d better get to it, then.”
The moment he was gone, the fuzzy feeling in my head evaporated, and I vowed not to be so affected by Jude’s charms that I overlooked the very real possibility that he might be a killer. I didn’t know him well enough to trust that he’d told me the truth, no matter how much I wanted to believe that he had nothing to do with Marlette’s murder.
With the workday now in full swing, I couldn’t afford to spend more time perusing Marlette’s journal. I’d save that investigation for my lunch with Makayla.
Reaching for my query folder, I began to read. It didn’t take long to place twenty in the rejection pile, and I noticed that these aspiring writers were following a similar trend. Of all twenty queries, nineteen writers had compared their work to that of a contemporary bestselling author. Within the first two or three sentences of those letters, I’d been assured that I was being given the opportunity to discover the next John Grisham, Nora Roberts, Stephanie Meyer, Stieg Larsson, and so on. Yet not one of the writers had illustrated a strong enough voice, plot, or hook to convince me that their novels were worthy of consideration.
By the time my coffee was finished, I’d read over thirty query letters and had placed only one in the possibilities folder. It was for a young adult fantasy novel about twins who traveled back in time to a variety of ancient cultures. The high school sophomores, who were academically gifted but not always popular, never knew when they were going to embark on a new journey. However, their inventiveness and ability to blend in with their surroundings always enabled them to survive long enough to return home. I figured that the success of Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson series had created an interest in ancient cultures and decided to bring the query to Flora while getting myself a second cup of coffee.
Her office was empty, but I found her in the break room. Her back was turned, and I could see that she was concentrating on pouring boiling water into a ceramic cup covered by a design of wild roses with one hand while steeping a tea bag with the other. She hummed all the while, and I paused at the threshold, smiling at the pleasant sound.
“Hi there,” I said when she’d finished pouring. “That’s a pretty song.”
“It’s ‘In the Cool, Cool, Cool of the Evening.’ Rosemary Clooney.” Flora poured two sugar packets into her tea. “A little before your time.”
Putting the query letter on the counter, I gave the stainless steel coffeepot a little shake. Empty. As I searched the cupboards for ground coffee and filters, Flora sat at the square table and sipped her tea.