I’d just turned back to my computer when Eliot, our feline office mascot, wandered into my office and jumped onto my desk. “Why, hello there, handsome,” I said, scratching the cream-colored tuft of hair under his chin until he purred. “Have you come to help me read my emails?” Then I laughed as he answered by rubbing his face against the edge of my computer monitor before plopping on top of a pile of papers.
The first email to catch my attention was from an editor for a series I’d signed last summer. The initial submission, a cozy mystery about a woman who designed doggie apparel, had a great plot but lacked direction. I did, however, like the author’s writing so I’d offered to represent her. Then we’d worked together the rest of the summer, rewriting the book to emphasize more of the pet angle and brainstorm synopses for two more possible books in the series. The end result was dubbed the Trendy Tails Mysteries and was snatched in the first round of submission for a three-book deal.
Now it looked like the cover art was done for the first book. Excitedly, I clicked on the email and opened the attachment. “Yes!” I said, delighted with the image that filled my screen. I was glad to see that the artist chose to feature both the poodle and the corgi on the front cover, each in a cute doggie sweater. Certainly readers would be drawn in by such a wonderful depiction. I sent the editor a quick note telling her how much I liked the artwork and then forwarded the cover to the author. I knew she’d love it, too.
After clicking send, I stood, stretched a little, and then walked over to my office window and rubbed a circle on the pane. While quaint-looking, the older six-over-six window frosted over at the first sign of cold weather, blocking my view of High Street and all the goings-on outside the office. But today I pressed my nose against the clear spot and let my eyes feast on the bucolic scene before me. Snow had gathered in the crevices of the brick-front buildings and on the boughs of the evergreens, making the entire town look like a white-frosted gingerbread village. Against the all-white backdrop, brightly clad townspeople moved about, adding a dash of color to an otherwise monochromatic scene.
As my eye wandered up the walk, I spied my client Lynn in front of the Constant Reader. She was staring at the store’s front window, which I knew contained many of our clients’ books. The owner, Jay, who also happened to be one of our very own authors, was always supportive of the agency’s efforts and had created a special display to showcase the authors participating in this week’s expo. I wondered if Lynn was dreaming of the day she’d see her own book in a bookstore window. The thought made me smile. A talented author like Lynn deserved the opportunity to have her work in readers’ hands.
I was about to turn back to my own work when suddenly Lynn spun away from the window and started walking quickly down the sidewalk. Surprised by her sudden change in demeanor, I pressed against the window and stared after her. Halfway down the walk, Chuck Richards, the handyman I’d met yesterday at the Magnolia Bed and Breakfast, caught up to her. Almost immediately something exchanged between the two of them. A sort of heated anger bordering on abhorrence that could only exist between two people on intimate terms.
The emotion between them was so strong it was almost palpable even from where I was standing. Chuck was towering over her, his face twisted into an angry scowl as his arms gestured wildly. Who was this man? Her brother? An ex-boyfriend, perhaps? Then something changed. Lynn transformed right in front of my eyes, morphing from angry to defensive to withdrawn. She seemed to shrink into herself until her arms were wrapped around her midsection and her head hung down. Still Chuck hovered over her, his mouth forming angry, maybe hurtful, words, before he let go with one more wild gesture that caused Lynn to noticeably flinch.
“Lila. It’s ten o’clock.”
Turning, I found Vicky peering through the cracked door, Eliot rubbing against her ankles.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
I turned back to the window, rubbed away the newly generated frost, and glanced back down at the street. Both Lynn and Chuck were already gone. “I don’t know,” I answered, turning back to Vicky. “I’m worried about one of the authors.”
“Which one?”
“My client, Lynn Werner,” I started, but before I could explain more, I heard the sound of the office’s main door opening.
“It’s Bentley,” Vicky said. Then she did a double take. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. She brought a dog with her.” Eliot stopped rubbing, his ears shooting straight upward before they started twitching. Then his back formed into an arch with spiked fur and tail jerking.