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 br?lée, 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 br?lée 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.”