Buried in a Book (33 page)

“Hey!” I shouted, running out the door and across the street. “Wait!”

Addison stopped but didn’t turn to greet me. I couldn’t blame her. After all, I was the reason her brother had been apprehended—that her world had been turned upside down.

“What do you want?” she demanded, her voice a low growl.

“To tell you that I’m sorry.”

She frowned. “For what? Ruining my life? Showing me a side of my brother I never knew existed?”

I was relieved to hear that this young girl hadn’t had foreknowledge of Carson’s crimes. “I’m sorry that you have to go through this. I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone.”

She kicked at the curb with the heel of her boot, and I could see her eyes welling up with tears. “That’s what the cop who interviewed me said. But here I am.”

“You’re going to be okay,” I told her. “You’re strong. Just don’t stop believing in people. They can surprise you in good ways, too.”

I wanted to hug her but sensed she wouldn’t welcome the familiarity, so I gave her my card, telling her to call me if she ever needed a friend. She took it and stuck it in the pocket of her jeans and then crossed the street without another word.

I watched her until she disappeared around a corner, and I silently prayed that she could recover from this ordeal.

Walking into Novel Idea felt like coming home. The other agents were genuinely glad to see me, and they hugged and fussed over me for a good fifteen minutes before I finally ventured into my office and got to work.

My concentration was interrupted by a call from the reception area. “Hello?” The woman’s voice sounded vaguely familiar, although I couldn’t place it. I hurried out to see who it was. Standing near the entrance was Calliope, Luella’s client, wearing a purple velour pantsuit and a canary yellow headband.

I held out my hand. “Hello, Calliope. I’m Lila Wilkins. We met last week.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t…” Recognition registered on her face. “You’re the one who found Luella. I read about it in the paper. It must have been awful.” She offered me her hand as though I might bend over and kiss her garish diamond and amethyst ring. “Poor Luella. She didn’t deserve to die like that.”

“No one does,” I said, though part of me believed that Luella had merited some kind of retribution for what she’d done to Marlette. “How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Bentley.” She pointed down the hall. “Is she in?”

“She’s in New York, but perhaps I could be of assistance?”

She shifted her bag from one shoulder to the other. “What will happen to Luella’s clients?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll be taken care of.” I suddenly realized I’d seen a photograph of Calliope’s face before. It had been on the inside back cover of the book Luella had lent me on my first day of work. “Isn’t
Can’t Take the Heat
one of your books? I read that recently and loved it.”

She nodded, her face aglow with pride. “It’s nice to be represented by an agency whose staff loves my work. However, a New York firm is offering me some
very
attractive perks. I’m tempted, but they want me to stick with contemporary romance.” She put her hands over her heart. “
I
want to leave my comfort zone. I’ve written a historical romantic suspense set in Elizabethan England, and personally, I think it’s my best writing. Ask Bentley if this agency would like to represent my new project. If so, she knows how to reach me. I do want to stay with the agency out of loyalty, but I’m wondering if anyone’s got enough free time for little old me.”

“Of course we do,” I hurried to assure her.

She turned to go but then abruptly spun around. “Oh, I almost forgot! I didn’t come here just because I was in the neighborhood. I have an important delivery. Please give this to Bentley.” She pulled a thick brown envelope from her cavernous Prada handbag. “Luella gave it to me for safekeeping a while ago. Told me that if anything happened to her, I was to get it to Bentley.”

“Do you know what it is?” I asked, noticing the envelope was sealed. It was heavy in my hands.

Calliope shook her head, her dark curls bouncing wildly. “Feels like a manuscript to me. I thought it was a
very
strange thing for her to do, but no matter how much I probed, she wouldn’t tell me what it was or why she wanted me to hold on to it. When she was murdered, I was dying to open it, but I’d made a promise to a friend.” Her magenta-hued lips crumpled a little, and I saw that she and Luella had shared a bond that went beyond agent and client.

After Calliope left, I took the envelope back to my office. I knew I should have put it directly on Bentley’s desk, but I couldn’t. Everything that had happened revolved around the contents of this package, for I was certain that it held a photocopy of Marlette’s manuscript. This had been Luella’s insurance policy, and though it had failed to keep Carson under her control, it would add to the stack of evidence that was mounting against him.

But beyond all of this, the envelope contained Marlette’s book. This was the project of years of labor, and it had been good enough to ignite a major bidding war among several publishing houses. It had been good enough to be called brilliant by my boss. I felt I deserved to read just one page of the novel that had caused so much strife and yet would soon be devoured by thousands and thousands of readers.

I slit one end open with the edge of my scissors and shook the envelope over my desk. A thick stack of papers secured with two rubber bands fell out with a thud, and I immediately recognized Marlette’s handwriting.

“Ahhh,” I breathed as though I had just been reunited with a long-lost friend. After pivoting the bundle using a pair of ballpoint pens to prevent getting my fingerprints on the manuscript, I read the first page.

It was wonderful. I wanted more, but the book did not belong to me. It was evidence, and so, reluctantly, I did the right thing. I called Sean. When he didn’t answer his cell phone, I rang the main switchboard and spoke to Vanessa. She informed me that Sean was in a meeting but she’d send an officer to the agency to collect the envelope.

When the policeman left my office an hour later, I experienced a strange sense of loss. It would be months before I’d be able to read
The Alexandria Society
in its final polished form. But that was all right. I knew it would be worth the wait.

THE FOLLOWING DAY
Bentley returned and immediately summoned me to her office. It was hard to imagine that not so long ago I had sat here, waiting to find out if I’d landed the intern’s job. That Friday, I was nervous, yet determined. Today, I felt like I’d been at this agency for years.

Bentley, who was wearing a white suit with black piping and a red silk pocket scarf, pulled a sheet of paper out of a file folder and placed it in front of her. She peered at me over her reading glasses.

“The other agents think very highly of you, Lila, and I’ve been impressed with both your instincts and dedication.”

“I enjoy working here,” I said, “despite all that has happened. I love the excitement of discovering a story that sparks the imagination, of encountering a fresh voice that I want to introduce to the world.”

“Yes, I sense that. Now, your three months internship has not run its course, but with Luella’s…demise, we need someone to take over her position. Based on your good work here, and on your newspaper experience, I’m offering that to you. Are you interested?”

It was all I could do to not jump out of my seat and scream my acceptance. Instead, I folded my hands tightly on my lap. “I’m most definitely interested.”

“The first six months will be a probationary period, but I expect things to go well. You’ll handle our romantic suspense and traditional mystery clients. The latter is an area in which you seem to have some expertise, considering your activities of late. Flora will take over the rest of Luella’s romance and erotica clients.”

“Flora? Erotica?” Relief mixed with surprise as I pictured the plump children’s lit agent blushing over manuscripts.

“Yes, she specifically requested this assignment.” Bentley slid over the piece of paper she’d earlier placed on the desk. “Here are the details outlining your new position—job description, salary and benefits, vacation schedule, travel reimbursements, et cetera. I trust it meets with your satisfaction?”

I read through the information, my eyes widening at the salary increase. Things were definitely looking up. Once my house in Dunston closed, I’d have enough money to pay for the damage Trey had wreaked on his high school and make an offer on the yellow house on Walden Woods Circle. If I was frugal enough, I could also handle Trey’s college
tuition after I convinced him to change his mind. And I would be a full-fledged literary agent! I could feel the joy shining through my eyes. “Thank you, Ms. Burlington-Duke.”

“Since you are now a bona fide agent of Novel Idea, please call me Bentley.” She stood and reached out her hand. “Congratulations, Lila.”

I shook it, understanding that this was a dismissal. “I’d better get to work.”

Just as I reached her door, she called me back. “One more thing. I’m giving you the responsibility of hiring a new intern as your replacement.”

The other agents were gathered in the break room, and as I walked past, the expression on my face must have told them what had transpired in Bentley’s office, because they applauded. Jude held out a plate of cinnamon buns. The pastry in the center bore a lit candle.

“Congratulations, Lila!” called Franklin, raising his mug in a toast.

I stood in the doorway and drank in the moment. “Thanks.”

“I had a feeling about you from the first, dear,” Flora said as she dipped a tea bag in and out of her cup.

Zach brushed past me. “I gotta run, babe, but Zach Attack is totally stoked that you’re going to need a brand-new shiny name plaque!”

“Thanks. Me, too.”

Jude gazed at me with his chocolate brown eyes and smiled. “You deserve this promotion, Lila. And we’re glad you’re staying, even though your first weeks here have been somewhat eventful.”

“That,” I said, “is an understatement.”

In my office, I could no longer contain my excitement. In the midst of all that had happened, my ambition had been realized. I did a little victory dance, feeling the gladness bubble up from deep inside. I picked up the phone and dialed my mother’s number.

“Why, hello, Ms. Hotshot Literary Agent,” she said by way of greeting.

I opened and closed my mouth like a fish tossed into a bucket. “How did you—?”

“This was meant to be, Lila. Now, if you wanna hear what I’ve got to say about your love life…” she trailed off with a laugh, and I felt a wave of affection flow through me for this amazing woman.

“Not right now, Mama,” I said with a smile, pushing aside thoughts of Sean, of my impending conversation with Trey, of Marlette’s legacy, and of anything else that did not involve Novel Idea.

I was a literary agent now.

The words were waiting for me. Words strung together like luminous pearls. Words as sharp as blades and as soft as rose petals. The stories, the authors, and the future readers were waiting, too.

I closed my door and sat down to read.

BY THE MIDDLE OF OCTOBER, THE HEAT AND LASSITUDE
of a Southern summer had finally loosed its hold over Inspiration Valley. Cool air traveled down from the foothills and encouraged the people of North Carolina to search their closets for lightweight sweaters and to spend their weekends at football games or strolling through pumpkin patches in search of the perfect gourd.

Signs of fall were everywhere. Advertisements were stapled to nearly every telephone pole enticing the public into taking hayrides, attending apple festivals, and purchasing potted mums from the local plant store, the Secret Garden. An electric charge was present in the crisp mornings and a bowl of warm grits or a cup of hot cider never tasted better. Folks went about their business with a spring in their step.

Although I loved autumn and welcomed the brisk breezes, and the harvest moons hung from a canvas of deep indigo, I was too busy to enjoy the season. Novel Idea,
working in conjunction with the town of Inspiration Valley, was on the verge of hosting the area’s first Book and Author Festival and I was in charge of registration for both the participants and the guest speakers. In addition to this time-consuming assignment, I had to find our agency a new intern because the woman I’d hired in August to take my place had been forced to accompany her husband in an abrupt job transfer to Minnesota.

This meant that come Monday, my desk and email inbox would be crammed with unfulfilled tasks. Thank goodness today was Saturday and the work I had before me was of the kind I’d been looking forward to for months. Today was moving day.

Most people view this activity as a miserable one. True, it involved plenty of hard labor and emotional stress, but I was giddy with excitement when my son, Trey, pulled up in front of my mother’s house in a borrowed pickup truck.

“Ready to put these guns to good use?” he asked, and then flexed his biceps. As usual, he was wearing a T-shirt. Freezing rain could cover the surface of Inspiration Valley and my son would insist that he wasn’t cold.

“Manual labor suits you,” I told him. “If you still have energy after a day of shoveling out the goat pens or chopping wood, you could always hike down the mountain and mow my lawn.”

Trey puffed out his chest, pleased that I’d noticed how strong he’d become since joining the co-op up on Red Fox Mountain. “You won’t have a man around now, Mom. So if there’s anything you need, just say the word and I’ll totally be here.”

Touched by his offer, I smiled at my only child. Trey was tall with the wide shoulders of a football player and had
sky-blue eyes that were prone to twinkle with mischief. His fair hair was too long for my taste, but I reached up and ruffled it fondly. He squirmed away from my touch, readjusting his shaggy locks while introducing me to two young men from the Red Fox Mountain Co-op who’d be helping us transfer the furniture and boxes stacked in a Dunston storage unit into a charming cottage located minutes away from Novel Idea.