I FELT RATHER DEFLATED FOR THE REST OF THE DAY. MY big sale had allowed me an hour or two of elation, but by the time I left the agency that afternoon, oppressive thoughts sat on my shoulders like a sodden cloak. Melissa. Trey. Tilly. I was worrying about a woman I’d just met, for crying out loud, but her discomfort was almost palpable. And more than a little contagious.
A month ago, I would have brushed aside her odd behavior and decided that she was just another eccentric writer, but not now. Too much had happened for me to ignore any instinctual warning flags, and since Flora had assured me that Tilly was normally very even-keeled, her trepidation had definitely set off my “something is amiss” radar.
Even my yellow cottage, toasty warm and smelling of cinnamon candles, didn’t cheer me up. I cooked myself supper, listened to a voicemail from Sean saying that he was thinking of me but wouldn’t be able to stop by, and fell asleep leafing through Apples for Jam, one of my favorite cookbooks.
Thankfully, I had so much work waiting for me at Novel Idea on Wednesday morning that there was no time to brood. I’d barely begun reading my emails when Zach burst into my office, a wide smile on his boyishly handsome face.
“Come get your sugar on!” he shouted, disrupting the tranquil atmosphere. “We celebrate with coffee and carbs around here. One of Novel Idea’s agency mottos is that if you haven’t gone up a clothing size by the end of the year, then you’re not making enough deals.” He patted his flat stomach and winked. “Except for me, of course. I’ve got to stay fit if I’m going to rope in the top athletes. If any of them saw how fast I’m going to devour one of Nell’s bear claws, they’d make me do suicide drills on the sidewalk before signing a contract. Let’s go before Franklin picks all the best stuff.” He gallantly offered me his arm and I walked around from behind my desk and took it.
I found the rest of my coworkers in the kitchen. They’d ordered a pastry platter from Sixpence Bakery and a tray of lattes from Espresso Yourself. Outside the window over the sink, the sky began to darken, threatening a bone-chilling thunderstorm, but I paid it no mind. It’s amazing how a cup of strong coffee, a pumpkin muffin top drizzled with icing, and the kindheartedness of friends can make any day feel like summer.
My coworkers entertained me with stories of their first major deals and our laughter filled the office. Even Vicky joined in and let her self-discipline slide enough to enjoy half an apple Danish. I looked around the room and smiled. For the hundredth time, I thought how lucky I’d been to land this job. No matter what happened, I loved what I did and was truly fortunate to work alongside such delightful people.
Thus invigorated, I returned to my laptop and stuffed inbox.
The first email that caught my eye contained the subject line “requested material,” and I immediately recognized the sender’s name. It was from Ashley Buckland, the writer who’d pitched the cozy mystery series featuring stay-at-home dads turned amateur sleuths.
I began with the query letter and was immediately hooked. Not only was the letter organized and polished, but the writer’s witty, humorous voice also shone through each and every line.
“If the manuscript is anything like the query, this is going to be a fun book to read,” I mused aloud and opened the document.
The first fifty pages were an entertaining romp through the domestic trials and tribulations of a winsome stay-at-home dad. Ashley began his story with his protagonist, Will MacGillicuddy, accidentally pouring bleach over a load of his family’s colored clothes, nearly losing a finger to the food processor, and walking in circles in a superstore in search of his child’s favorite cereal. Will collides into the shopping cart of another overwhelmed father, and after transporting their screaming children to the park, the two dads form the Men at Home support group.
I laughed many times over the course of those fifty pages and found Ashley to be a skilled writer. He treated real-life parenting experiences with humor, but also with sensitivity and a genuine depth of feeling. By the point at which one of the stay-at-home group’s six members is murdered, I had become so fond of the characters that I wanted to shout, “No, not him! I liked him!”
There were plenty of potential suspects, the murder was handled with tasteful compassion, and as I read Ashley’s synopsis of how the rest of the book would unfold, I knew it was a winner. The title, Deadly Diapers, needed work, but I was ready to request the full manuscript, and I sent Ashley an email telling him that I’d like to see the rest of the book.