I continued staring at the blank screen.
“Come on, Jessie.” Wilson snapped his fingers in front of my face. “You know Beak and Pritt will go nowhere nationally.”
I looked up. “Jimmy mentioned his special source.”
Wilson’s face dropped. “Geez Louise?”
I cringed. “She keeps Dee Dee Larkin on speed dial. They do lunch together at least once a week.”
Truth be told, Geez Louise considers it her number one professional priority to get me national news coverage as often as humanly possible. And unfortunately, she has a pretty good track record. In fact, she and Jimmy Beak have a track record together. The previous year they had conspired to get Adelé Nightingale nation-wide exposure about Stanley Sweetzer.
Positive or negative attention? Louise doesn’t care. According to her, all publicity is good publicity. Or to quote my insane agent herself, “All publicity is fantastical, fantastical, fantastical!”
“There’s no way I’m gonna stop you from calling her?” Wilson asked.
“None whatsoever.”
***
“On that happy note.” Wilson stood up. “I’ve got to get to work.”
“Me, too,” I said. “I need to get back to town.”
“You can stay here, you know?” He tilted his head toward the porch. “I like watching you write out there.”
“Yeah, right.” I tried turning away.
“No, really.” Wilson had hold of me. “Bernice and Wally want to help with your stories. Like Snowflake does.”
We looked at the cats. Bernice and Wally yawned in unison and then scooted back out to the porch. Snowflake gave me a feline shrug and followed. And by the time Wilson and I got out there, Bernice had settled her ample self on top of my computer.
“See?” Wilson said. “Everyone wants you to stay. What do you say, Jessie?”
I said no thank you and reminded him I had to return Candy’s car. “She has a busy afternoon at Tate’s, restocking lingerie for Mrs. Marachini’s next visit.”
“Excuse me?”
“The polka-dot bra lady. She’s Candy’s best customer.”
Wilson shook his head. “If you’re going back downtown anyway, I have a job for you.”
“Oh?”
He took a deep breath. “I know I’ll regret this, but spend part of the afternoon out on Sullivan Street. Make a point of talking to Pritt and Beak.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Get on camera and get interviewed,” he continued hallucinating. “Get indignant, get angry, jump up and down. The whole nine yards of crazy.”
I asked if he were feeling well, and Wilson explained his logic—he wanted the murderer to see me having a breakdown on TV.
“Let him think your life’s falling apart.” He grinned. “Play it up, Jessie. Let’s use Beak to our advantage.”
It did make sense. If the murderer thought his plan to make me look bad was somehow working, he might get cocky.
“The killer might end up bragging to someone, correct?” I asked. “About how crazy he’s made me?”
“Very good. Act crazy, Jessie. You’re good at that.”
I thanked him for the vote of confidence and spoke to Snowflake. “It seems we have another exciting day ahead of us.”
“Talk about exciting.” Wilson was still smiling. “I hope you noticed all the hot water we had this morning. Enough for my shower, and to do the dishes.”
“Will wonders never cease?” I asked. “Dare I expect hot water for my own shower?”
“Oh, heck no. Just the opposite.”
Chapter 24
Call me finicky, but I decided my shower could wait until I got home.
My mother, however, could not. I stuck around the shack after Wilson went off to work, settled into the yellow Adirondack chair, and dialed.
“Are you okay?” I asked the moment she answered.
“Jessie?” she asked. “Did you see me? Was I really on the news show? I’ve never been on TV before.”
I rolled my eyes. “I take it you survived the ordeal?”
“Ordeal?”
“Of Jimmy Beak and his cameraman.”
“Such nice boys.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, maybe not Mr. Beak. But Joe is an especially nice young man.”
I shook my head and decided I hadn’t had nearly enough coffee. “You’re talking about the cameraman, correct?”
“Mm-hmm. Joe showed me how to use his camera. I’ve never seen such a fancy contraption. It’s digital, of all things. But Joe was very patient with me, and I learned a lot.” Mother giggled. “They did, too.”
“Oh?” I braced myself and asked my mother exactly how long she had entertained Jimmy and Joe.
“Goodness, it must have been at least two hours. We had tea after my official interview was finished and chatted about any old thing.”
Any old thing?
I braced myself some more and asked what “any old thing” might have entailed.
“Well now, let’s see.” Mother stopped to think. “Mr. Beak wanted to continue discussing the book-banning foolishness, but I put a swift end to that. There’s no sense giving it any more credence by fretting over it, is there?”
“Good point,” I agreed. “So what did you talk about?”
“I showed them my drawings. Joe was fascinated I keep drawings of my family instead of photographs.” She hesitated. “He told me I’m quite talented.”
“Because you are.”
“Jimmy was mostly interested in my sketches of you, Honeybunch.”
“What a surprise,” I said. “You didn’t show him the ones of Daddy and me, did you?”
“Of course I did.”
“What!?” I sat up even straighter and shooed Snowflake from my lap. “Jimmy Beak knows I play pool? Oh, Mother. Please say no.”
“No,” she said, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Jessie. I could tell Mr. Beak doesn’t like you very much. Therefore, I was cautious. I didn’t show him anything he might misconstrue.”
“You’re a savvy old lady, Tessie Hewitt.”
“Like mother, like daughter. And those drawings of you and your father shooting pool are my favorites. I keep them in my bedroom. I certainly didn’t invite the boys in there, did I?”
“Did Jimmy ask about Daddy?”
“Oh yes. I told him your father was a small businessman who happened to travel a lot.”
I smiled at Lake Lookadoo. My father, better known as Leon Cue-It Hewitt, had enjoyed the esteem and regard of his peers. But somehow I doubted Jimmy Beak would consider Daddy’s career as a pool shark a positive reflection on my own character.
Mother switched topics. “But what about your work, Jessie? I hope this book-banning mischief hasn’t distracted you from
A Singular Seduction
?”
I scowled at my laptop, or what little I could see of it beneath Bernice. “I’m thinking of trying science fiction,” I said. “Or maybe I’ll try writing children’s books.”
“What!?” Mother veritably screeched. “Jessie, honey, don’t startle me like that. My heart isn’t as strong as it used to be.”
I apologized for the shock and explained Adelé Nightingale’s sex-scene dearth. “A pornographer who can’t write a decent sex scene.” I whimpered. “Who would have thunk it?”
“You are not a pornographer,” she scolded. “You write romance fiction. And speaking of romance.”
I waited for it.
“When’s the wedding? I hope you and Wilson have finally set a date? I can’t wait.”
“Well, you’re going to have to wait,” I said. “I don’t even have hot water for a shower this morning.”
“You mean, you’re at Wilson’s cottage right now? Isn’t that nice.”
“It’s a shack, Mother. And trust me, there’s nothing nice about the water situation.”
“How is the water, Honeybunch? Lake Lookadoo must be beautiful this time of year.”
I frowned at the lake, which was indeed lovely. Darn it.
I stood up and went inside.
“And you stayed there last night?” Mother was asking. “That must have been so cozy and charming.”
I looked around and frowned some more. Okay, so maybe Wilson had taken a stab at improving the décor over the past few months. Bright and cheerful throw covers and cushions now adorned the less-than-new furnishings. And I stood barefoot on a pleasantly soft rag rug his mother had sewn and assembled. Wilson had even hung some Fiestaware plates on the kitchen walls.
“The cottage could use some new curtains,” I said.
“Did you just say cottage?” Mother asked, and I told her to check her hearing aids.
***
“How did it go?” Candy asked as she gestured me into her condo.
“Surprisingly well.” I dropped the car keys into her hand and thanked her again for the use of her vehicle. “No one noticed when I filled your gas tank at the corner. And for some reason Alistair isn’t even out there this morning. But his groupies are still there. And Roslynn and the pastel people. And Jimmy.”
I bent down to open Snowflake’s door. “So once I parked, I took Peter Harrison’s secret staircase. It wasn’t easy with the cat carrier, but we managed with only a minor bout of the heebie jeebies.”
“Secret staircase?” Candy asked but then held up both hands. “Forget about the staircase,” she said. “Puddles and me want to know what you figured out last night. What about the murderer?”
Actually, Puddles couldn’t care less about the murderer. He was far more interested in getting Snowflake to venture out of her cat carrier. We left them to negotiate on their own and walked over to the windows.
“And what about your mother?” Candy pointed to Jimmy Beak, who was getting in his morning aerobics, running back and forth between the various demonstrators. “Did you see the news this morning?”
My snarl answered that question. But I told Candy that Tessie seemed no worse for wear, and then explained my new theory about the murder. “Believe it or not, Wilson agrees it was all about me,” I said. “But he wants to keep the murderer guessing. So keep this latest a secret, Sweetie?”
“Karen will want to know,” she said. “But otherwise you know I’m good at keeping secrets.”
I did.
I continued watching the circus on Sullivan Street. “Don’t these people ever work?” I asked, and Candy reminded me Jimmy Beak actually was working.
“Lucky me.” I sighed. “And apparently Alistair has a whole slew of relatives running the Hava Java for him.”
“And Roslynn’s like you,” Candy said. “She’s a writer, so she works weird hours.”
Speaking of weird. Roslynn and her pastel people had begun some sort of synchronized dance routine, twirling and whirling their posters to the beat of what was clearly their own drum.
“I wonder what makes Roslynn Mayweather tick,” I asked.
“She loves romance fiction,” Candy said. “And she loves you, Jessie. When I was out there yesterday, she told me how worried she is. About you, and about
A Singular Seduction
.”
“I wrote a whole scene on Wilson’s porch this morning.” I turned from the window. “Kipp Jupiter is mad at Will-slash-Willow because she won’t listen to him about the water issues on the ranch. He’s taken to calling him-slash-her Will LeSwine. Do you get it?” I smiled. “LeSwine instead of LaSwann?”
Candy tilted her head. “You have your hero calling your heroine a pig?” she asked, and I agreed that the scene might need some work.
“But what about your work?” I asked as I gathered up Snowflake. “You have a big day ahead at Tate’s, correct?”
“Mm-hmm.” Candy held onto Puddles while I once again maneuvered my poor cat into her carrier. “Every department is gearing up for Mrs. Marachini’s visit tomorrow. It’s an emergency shopping spree.”
I stood up after putting Snowflake away. “A polka-dot bra emergency?”
Candy rolled her eyes. “Don’t be silly. The emergency is Mrs. Marachini’s niece is getting married on Saturday, but something happened to all the gifts from her bridal shower. There was a fire or something. Anyway, Trisha Fister—she’s the niece—was really upset, so Mrs. Marachini promised her a store-wide shopping-spree extravaganza before the wedding. Have you heard about this wedding, Jessie? It’s gonna be huge.”
Candy stopped and gave me that look.
I folded my arms and glared. “Don’t you dare ask me about my own wedding.”
“Okay, I’ll ask about the water issues instead. How was Wilson’s plumbing last night?”
“At least the Septosauri didn’t show up.”
“Huh?”
“I haven’t showered yet, if that answers your question. The cottage ran out of hot water.”
Candy raised an eyebrow. “Did you just say cottage?”
***
“Cottage, shack. What difference does it make?” I asked once Snowflake and I got back to our condo. I released her from her carrier, headed to my ultra-modern and altogether luxurious bathroom, and took a long and altogether relaxing shower.
As I got dressed I mentioned it was time to call Geez Louise, and the cat scooted under the bed. “So much for relaxing,” I agreed and picked up the phone.
“Jessica!” Louise screamed like no one else on planet earth can scream.
“How are you, Louise?”
“Perfect! Stupendous! Fantastical!”
I waited.
“Fantastical! Fantastical!” she completed her thought. “Did you get my messages?”
“Umm,” I said as Snowflake poked her whiskers out. “I think I might have accidently erased them.”
“Accidently erased!? This kind of mishap occurs far too often, Jessica. It’s a good thing I have Roslynn down there to keep me posted.”
“Ah, yes.” I sat down cross-legged on the bed, and Snowflake bravely came out to join me. “What exactly has Ms. Mayweather been telling you?”
“Hello-o! She’s been telling about your book-banning scheme! An absolutely, fantastically brilliant publicity stunt! Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant! How do you comes up with these things? You always have such brilliant ideas!”
I rolled my eyes. “It was Alistair Pritt’s idea, not mine.”
“Excellent! Roslynn told me all about this Alistair Fitt guy. I must, must, must call to thank him! Your sales are going to skyrocket because of his brilliant plan! Brilliant, brilliant, brillia—”
“Louise!” I spoke loudly enough that she actually shut up. “The name is Pritt. And don’t you dare call him.”
“Pritt has a fit!” What a surprise—Louise wasn’t listening to me. “That is just too, too, too perfect! Better yet, you should thank him yourself, Jessica! And Roslynn! She says he owns a coffee shop?” Louise gasped. “I just had the most fantastical idea!”
I waited.