I picked up the feather, wondering what on earth it could mean. The barbs radiating from the vein were silky smooth and glossy in their blackness, and even the downy afterfeathers at the base of the shaft were black. I had no idea why that disquieting man would give this to me, as I had never seen him before today, and made a note to ask Jude if he knew anything about him.
T. J. West turned out to be a pseudonym, and the writer was unwilling to give me his actual name. His pitch was for a cozy based in a small lakeside town and featured a widow who ran a bed and breakfast. His depiction of the town and description of the protagonist were strong, but I have to admit that the writer didn’t have my full attention because I could not keep my eyes off the black feather. What did the creepy guy mean by leaving that plume on my table?
I returned my focus to the man’s voice. After all, he should be given as much consideration as the others who preceded him.
“So the clue that my widow is convinced will help her solve the murder,” he was saying, “is something that the murderer left in the victim’s arms. A child’s much-loved teddy bear.”
I sat up. “A teddy bear? I don’t think cozy fans would like that. Children are untouchable in a cozy, unless they serve as cute or humorous minor characters.”
“But it’s the key to the murderer’s motivation. She kills the woman because—”
At that moment a cold, wet drop fell on my forehead. Two more fell onto my appointment schedule, blurring some of the names. T. J. West directed his eyes upward and a fat droplet splashed onto the lens of his glasses. “The ceiling is leaking!” he exclaimed.
I looked up. Sure enough, drops of rain were collecting at a crack directly over our table. Another plopped on me, this time on my nose. I shoved the table out from under the leak and handed one of my cards to the man. “If you take out the teddy bear, you can email me the first three chapters, with ‘Requested material’ in the subject line.”
He took the card. “But—”
“I like your setting and your protagonist. However, before you send me your proposal, check our agency guidelines on what constitutes a cozy and make sure your book fits the criteria, okay?” I held the door open for him. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to find a bucket.”
I ran to the lobby where Vicky was sitting at her table sipping from a cup.
“Vicky, the ceiling is leaking in the courtroom!” I exclaimed. “Do you know where I can find a bucket?”
“No need to panic, Lila.” She put her cup down. “One of the presentation rooms has a dripping ceiling, too. Zach found a bucket for it in the janitor’s closet down that hall.”
She pointed to a corridor behind one of the large easels displaying the panel schedules. We had placed it there to prevent attendees from entering that part of the building.
“But that area is cordoned off because of the renovations,” I protested.
“The entry is simply obstructed by barriers and our signs. You can get in easily.” She glanced down at my shoes. “I’m glad to see you’re not wearing a pair of unstable high heels. Just watch out for the construction debris.”
“Okay. Where’s the janitor’s closet?”
“Fifth door on the right. And I’ll get Jude to mop up the water on the floor in your room. We can’t have any lawsuits on the first day of our festival.”
Ducking behind the easel and then under the wooden barrier, I found myself in a dimly lit passageway that disappeared into darkness. The floor was littered with chunks of plaster, pieces of wood, and dirt, and I couldn’t see past the first three doors. To get to the janitor’s closet I’d have to venture into the dark.
The rainy weather made the air in the corridor dank, and I felt a chill. “‘Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,’” I whispered, quoting Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven.” Rubbing my arms, I gingerly picked my way around the debris.
My eyes became accustomed to the gloom, but I still couldn’t see very clearly. The rubble on the floor was a shadowy obstacle course. My steps echoed in the hollow-sounding, somber space, and I felt edgy, even though there was absolutely no reason for me to be skittish. I was just getting a bucket, for heaven’s sake.
I passed the fourth door and was almost at the fifth when I stumbled on a crumbly brick. I reached out my arms and my hands caught the wall to keep me from falling. Vicky had been right about the shoes, and in that moment I was glad I’d worn flats. Wiping my hands on my pants, I continued.
A noise sounded down the corridor, almost like an echo of my stumble. I stopped and held my breath, listening. Hearing nothing, except for the beating of my heart and the rain assaulting the roof, I waited a minute more and then moved forward.