“Well, I can’t very well let them go off and make the mistake of a lifetime, now, can I? It’s my duty, after all—the burden that I carry for havin’ the gift.” She sighed dramatically. “Anyway, I’m just the messenger. It’s really the cards that hold the answers.”
I rolled my eyes and wondered if Flora knew what she’d signed up for when she asked Mama to act the part of a fortune-teller. She probably thought that was all there was to my mother’s gift: acting. Not that I blamed Flora. As much as I hated to admit it, I often found myself torn between being skeptical of my mama’s gift and in awe of her uncannily accurate predictions.
I rubbed at the knot forming on the back of my neck. Fortunately, we were pulling onto High Street and the agency was just ahead. “Just drop me at the door,” I told her. “And thanks for the ride.”
Mama carefully maneuvered through the back lot and alongside the stairs that led up to the agency. She put the truck in gear and turned my way. “Say, darlin’, do you have a few minutes?”
I glanced at my watch and then longingly toward the back door of Espresso Yourself, the local coffee shop located just below our agency. I’d hoped to have enough time to pop in, say hello to the owner and my best friend, Makayla, and grab a caramel latte to start my busy day. I sighed. “Sure, Mama. What is it?”
She hesitated. “Oh, nothin’ that can’t wait, I suppose. You go along now. I’ll be seein’ you this afternoon at the Arts Center.”
I leaned across the seat, gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and grabbed my banana bread, which was going to go great with my coffee. “Love you, Mama,” I said, sliding out the door.
*
ABOUT FIFTEEN MINUTES later, I settled behind my desk with a caramel latte and a slice of Mama’s banana bread. I only had a couple of hours to get some real work done before our normal Monday morning status meeting.
I flipped on my computer. While it warmed up, I eyed with mixed emotions a pile of queries Vicky had placed on my desk. While it appeared to be nothing more than a stack of papers, I knew each query held the hopes and dreams of its creator. Authors poured their hearts into their stories, hoping to one day see their work published. I’d love to be able to make that dream come true for every author; unfortunately only the best-written queries would make it to the next level.
The first few were rejections, one so badly written I had to wonder why it made the cut in the first place. I set it aside, meaning to ask Vicky about it later. Usually she was more thorough when vetting queries, but maybe there was something she saw in this one that I’d missed. The next few were well written, just not what the market was calling for at the moment. I kept sorting, making piles on my desk, until I came to a query that caught my eye.
Dear Ms. Wilkins,
Prominent flapper and unrestrained party girl Zelda Gray is a regular at the Forty-Sixth Street Speakeasy. After all, the raucous club secreted away above Luigi’s Ristorante is simply the bee’s knees. The jazz is lively, the illicit booze flows freely, and the patrons party like there’s no tomorrow. Which there isn’t for vaudeville singer Doris Shaw, who’s found in the back room bludgeoned to death with a bottle of bootlegged whiskey. Unfortunately, witnesses claim they saw Zelda and Doris arguing just moments before Doris is discovered murdered. Zelda soon finds that being the main suspect in a murder case is a sobering situation. Will she be able to ditch her glad rags and get down to business in time to prove her own innocence? Or will her next party be in the pokey?
My 78,000-word completed novel, Death of the Dame, will provide a roaring good read for mystery fans. I earned a BA in history from Northwestern University and worked as a staff writer for . . .
This one really made me sit up and take notice. First of all, while it was short and succinct, it still gave me a good feel for the author’s voice. It also had a great hook. Thanks to a resurging interest in The Great Gatsby, everything 1920s was big right now, so this theme might really pique readers’ interest. I set it aside, planning to contact the author and ask for the first couple of chapters. Hopefully, the manuscript would live up to this promising query.
After finishing the rest of the queries, I started in on a stack of royalty statements, reviewing each and double-checking the statements against the checks being paid out to authors. Since my client list had grown, this task was becoming more time consuming. Not that I minded. More clients meant more money for the agency. And I was glad to pull my weight.