Part 13 (2/2)
”Delighted as you all must be,” Alex said, reaching for the book Maggie was still holding above her head like first prize in some contest, ”may I?”
”Sure, here you go, Alex,” Maggie said, realizing she was almost breathless with excitement. Giddy, even. She shoved the book into his hands. ”See? No Secret Anymore. Absolutely the worst book in the history of the world. Look-see the names? Jonathan West-you can't miss his name, it's two inches high. Then Sylvia Piedmonte, Garth Ransom ... and then the rest of us going down the cover like an inverted pyramid. The peons. Look hard, the print's that small.”
Alex took his quizzing gla.s.s from his pocket and lifted it to his eye. ”Why are the names so small?”
”Because we were all small potatoes, that's why,” Maggie told him. ”Book buyers weren't really supposed to see us, all hidden on the cover. Jonathan was the biggest draw and they were supposed to buy the book for him, and get us as a bonus they might not have wanted. So Jonathan got top billing, then Sylvia, then Garth-d.a.m.n, I didn't know his real name was Buzz Noonan. I might have put the pieces together faster if I'd known that. But look, Alex-look at those names.”
Alex read the names out loud. ”Jonathan West, Sylvia Piedmonte, Garth Ransom, Kimberly Lowell D'Amico. And then, in smaller print, Lucius Santana, Frederick Brandyce, Bruce McCrae. And in even smaller print-it hardly seems possible-Francis Oakes, Felicity Boothe Simmons, Alicia Tate Evans. Ah, before my time, I see,” he said with no small pleasure, handing the book back to Maggie, who made a face at him, then gave the book to J.P.
”One of Kirk's brainstorms,” Bernie explained as Maggie grinned at her own brilliance. ”Well, Jonathan West's brainstorm initially, but Kirk was all over it. He saw it as the perfect-and cheap-way to promote his mid-list authors. Buy the book for Jonathan, or maybe for Sylvia or Garth, and discover a new Toland author you might like and then buy. I'm sorry I didn't realize it sooner, which is probably because I've spent eight years trying to block the whole episode from my mind. We took a bath, critically and financially. Not because of you, Maggie, or even you, Bruce, but Jonathan got a very large chunk of change he never earned back.”
”Right, the book bombed big-time, and the critics ripped Jonathan, also big-time. I don't think he ever recovered,” Maggie broke in, because, hey, it was her idea, so it was her story to tell, right? Not that she was crowing or anything-but, boy, it sure felt good to be the one who came through with some answers, rather than Alex, always the great super sleuth Viscount Saint Just.
”Here's the deal. Bruce, Bernie, you already know all of this, but I want to explain to J.P. and Alex. Ten different authors, each a.s.signed to write one sixty-five-hundred-word chapter of a single book. It was doomed before we started. Ten short stories, maybe, even connected novellas. But a chapter each, all for the same book? Anyway, we each got a bible-that's like a set of rules for what we have to write, J.P., in case you think we were on some holy mission, because we sure weren't. We all met a few times to talk about the work, the authors who lived in New York, but trust me, we were no Algonquin Round Table. All in all, an experience I obviously tried to forget, although I got twenty-five thousand, which was great, and a cheesy one percent of the royalties. But we never saw any royalties.”
”I got forty-five thousand, and one and one-half percent,” Bruce interrupted.
”And a larger font on the cover-bully for you,” Maggie said, glaring at him for a moment. ”If I might continue? Jonathan wrote the bible because the whole thing was his idea in the first place, and he was the biggest draw. With Jonathan's name to carry us, and help from the next couple of authors down the line, like Bernie said, the idea was that the book would hit the Times and Kirk could then technically put New York Times Bestselling Author on all our book covers. He'd have seven new NYT mystery writers in one shot.”
”Only it didn't work,” Bernie added. ”Jonathan wasn't easy to work with, was he, Maggie?”
”Easy? I wanted to kill him. We all wanted to kill him, didn't we, Bruce? He kept changing the bible, demanding a million rewrites from all of us. I worked with it because I had to-the advance money kept me in peanut b.u.t.ter for a long time after Kirk dropped me and I could come up with Cleo Dooley and Saint Just. But Faith nearly had a breakdown. She'd call me, screaming, ranting, begging me to help her because-ohmiG.o.d, Faith! Do you think she got a rat? She'd never tell, you know. Not Faith. Everybody has to love her. She'd never tell anybody she ever got hate mail.”
”Yes, we'll consider that in a moment, shall we?” Alex said, leading Maggie over to the couches so she could sit down. ”Bernie, as publisher of Toland Books, you probably have the most information on everyone involved. Can you possibly give us a ... is the word rundown?”
”I can do that, Alex,” McCrae said. ”Unlike Maggie, I've kept in touch with most everybody who stayed local. Jonathan still lives in New York, but Maggie's right, No Secret Anymore really did him in and he's not writing anymore. I think he gave everything he had to those first few books, and then the well went dry for him, poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I don't think I've seen him in months. Frankly, he'd started getting a little bit weird.”
”He's not selling anymore, you mean,” Bernie put in with a small sniff. ”But you're right on the other thing. Whatever Jonathan had, boy, did he lose it. His last three books-ever since No Secret Anymore-they all bombed. Kirk offered him another contract two years ago, but he wasn't real happy about the terms, and he turned us down. He can still live pretty well on his royalties, I suppose. My Only Friend is in its twenty-sixth printing. Oh, sorry, Bruce. Go on. No-wait. You do know that Lucius Santana died a few years ago? Skydiving, if you can believe that one. Okay, I'm done. Now you can go on,” she ended, popping another cherry into her mouth.
Maggie grabbed a tablet and pen from her desk and began making a list as Bruce told them that Jonathan West had become a semi-recluse. Rather the way Francis Oakes had done. Rather the way she herself had sort of begun doing, until Alex had come into her life ... but she refused to think about that. Writers, lots of them, were pretty much stay-at-home people, that's all. Not everybody is a party animal ...
Bruce kept on talking and Maggie kept scribbling: Jonathan West. New York. Rat??????
Sylvia Piedmonte. Ma.s.sapequa Park, Long Island. Rat. Left town.
Garth Ransom (Buzz Noonan). New Jersey. Currently in Africa. Possible rat.
Kimberly Lowell D'Amico. Missouri. Rat??????
Lucius Santana. New Mexico. Deceased.
Frederick Brandyce. New York. Rat. Left town.
Bruce McCrae. New York. Rat.
Felicity Boothe Simmons. New York. Rat??????
Moi. New York. Rat.
Francis Oakes. New York. Rat. DEAD!!!
She looked up from the page. ”I think we can safely say we've figured out at least part of this whole thing, at least enough to show a definite pattern. Do we really still need to know if Jonathan, Faith, and-” she took a peek at her notes; G.o.d, she really was bad at names, wasn't she ”-and Kimberly also got rats? Yeah, I guess we do, just to nail down our theory.”
”I've got Jonathan's phone number,” Bruce said now, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small electronic organizer. ”Shall I give him a call? Ask him if he got a rat in the mail?”
”Good idea, since you know him. And then we have to call Kimberly D'Amico, too,” Maggie said. ”And Faith, I guess. Hey, wait a minute, Bruce, don't call him yet, not until we think about this a while. Maybe Jonathan is the one who sent the rats. I mean, think about it. Maybe he blames us for his career going into the toilet and he's finally popped his cork, or something. You said he'd been acting strangely lately, right? We could be calling a murderer. d.a.m.n, why did Steve have to leave so soon? Alex, what do you think?”
Alex paused in the middle of s.h.i.+ning his quizzing gla.s.s against the front of his sweater. ”Oh, you've remembered that I'm still here? How gratifying. I was about to go into a sad decline.”
”Knock it off,” Maggie told him. ”Come on, we're all a part of the same team, right? Do we call these people or not?”
”I think if we're careful not to alarm them that, yes, Mr. West, Miss D'Amico, and your friend Felicity should be notified as soon as possible. It will also be interesting to see how our Mr. West reacts, won't it? But I would not stop there, as we are not at a point where we can rest on our laurels. It may come to nothing, but we were led in the direction we now agree upon only after reading the letters from Mr. Bryon and Mr. Gates, wasn't it? Mr. Valentino Gates? I would suggest we pay morning calls on both gentlemen. I would further suggest that we offer to include Wendell on those calls, if he's so inclined.”
”Which he doesn't seem to be,” Maggie pointed out. ”Bruce, you're calling Jonathan now?”
Bruce held up one finger as he held his cell phone to his ear, then shook his head. ”He's not answering-wait, his machine picked up. Jonathan? Jonathan, hi, Bruce McCrae here and I'm calling at ...” he looked at Maggie, who mouthed the word seven, ”... around seven o'clock on Tuesday evening. I don't want to alarm you, Jonathan, but we may have a small problem.” He looked up at Alex. ”I have an appointment tomorrow morning, but two friends of mine would like to stop by and talk to you. You remember one of them-Alicia Tate Evans? I know what you're thinking, but it's important, Jonathan, honest, so be nice and let them in, okay?”
He sighed, closed the phone. ”I hope I got through to him. I'm betting he was standing right beside the machine the whole time, listening to me. Maybe I should cancel my appointment and-”
”A generous offer, but I believe we'll manage, thank you. Three morning calls then, Messrs. West, Bryon, and Gates,” Alex said, looking at Maggie, who nodded her agreement.
”I've still got Kimberly's number on file back at the office, I'm sure, if you think it's really necessary to call out to Missouri.”
”I think not, Bernice,” Alex told her. ”Depending on what we are able to discover tomorrow morning, Steve would be best equipped to notify the police in Missouri. Maggie? Do you wish to call Felicity, or shall I?”
”Can't we just stop by and see her tomorrow morning? Add her to the list? To the end of the list? I'm telling you, if she got a rat in the mail she'll lie and say she didn't. Everybody's got to-”
”Love her, yes, I heard that,” Alex said as Bernie and J.P. gathered up the piles of letters and stuck them back into their folders, then into the briefcases. ”Are we all leaving so soon?”
”Don't try to stop them,” Maggie whispered, trying not to move her lips, then said, ”Oh, gosh, do you have to? It's still early. We could ... we could play charades?”
Two short minutes later, Maggie clapped her hands together as she grinned at Alex and said, ”All right! Nothing like the suggestion of charades to clear a room. I thought Bernie was going to fall over herself, trying to get out of here. So? What do we do now?”
”You're such a gracious hostess,” Alex told her, slipping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her closer to him. ”But you'll notice that I'm still here.”
Maggie ducked out from beneath his arms, putting some s.p.a.ce between them. ”Yeah ... about that. This.” She fluttered her hands helplessly. ”You know. We probably should talk about it ... consider the consequences if we ... well, just because we ... n.o.body says we're going to ... at least not so that anybody else knows, because-will you please stop grinning and help here?”
”Certainly,” he said picking up his gla.s.s of wine. ”An isolated incident. Succ.u.mbing to temptation. A pleasurable but perhaps fleeting infatuation that should not weigh too heavily on either of us. Mutually satisfying-possibly even transcendental in nature-but by no means including a serious commitment by either party. Is there anything else you might have had me say to the many light-o-loves you've paired me with over the years? Ah, I know. Shall I buy you a diamond necklace, or some other such trifle, sweetings?”
”Bite me,” Maggie said, storming past him and into the kitchen to wrap up the meat and salads. n.o.body had eaten much, and now she had to figure out what to do with three pounds of macaroni salad, starting with what the heck she was going to put it in. ”Oh, wait,” she said, stopping before she got out of the living room. ”Do you think Sterling is hungry? I could make a sandwich and take it over to him? And macaroni salad. He likes that, right?”
”Actually, Sterling had a request before I joined you this evening,” Alex told her. ”He would like to go ice-skating if our meeting adjourned early.”
”Ice-skating? He just got beat up, for crying out loud. Are you sure?”
”I'm merely repeating the request as it was told to me. But, if you would rather not, I'm sure Sterling will understand.”
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