The Living Room (51 page)

Better than most people, the nurse would understand why a person might reach the point that continuing to live was an overwhelmingly negative prospect. Even in the last stages of life, Sanford Dominick may have retained the force of personality that could influence others to do what he wanted. If so, Jackson could have been a willing partner in helping the elderly man end his life on his own terms. Amy quickly sent the information gleaned from her research along with her own thoughts to Chris. He replied in less than a minute:
Yes! Keep digging
.

Further digging would have to wait until after her video call with Lynn Colville. Amy passed Janelle’s desk on her way to the conference room.

“My second call should come in about five minutes,” she said to the receptionist. “It will be from a woman named Lynn Colville.”

“Okay. How did the first one go?”

“Short and disappointing,” Amy replied bluntly. “But this is the one my agent thinks has promise.”

“I hope so,” Janelle replied. “Once someone spends five minutes with you, they can’t help but see how smart you are.”

“I’m not sure my daughter agrees.” Amy shrugged. “And she’s known me all of her fourteen years.”

“That’s different. I’ve always loved my mom, but it wasn’t until I turned twenty that I really came to appreciate her.”

“Megan will be fifteen in a few weeks. Maybe I can hold on to hope for five more years.”

Amy went into the conference room, turned on the equipment, and called Bernie on her cell phone.

“Anything I need to know before this call gets started?” she asked.

“No worries. I confirmed with Lynn’s office that she’s good to go for a full hour to an hour and a half. There’s nothing else on her calendar until three o’clock.”

“Okay, but I don’t want you to lie to her about anything.”

Bernie was silent for a moment.

“Did you hear me?” Amy repeated.

“Yes, but you need to remember that Lynn is an acquisitions editor, not a priest. She’d think I was nuts if I didn’t advocate for my client. I know where the lines lie. But you need to stick to the script and not offer any unsolicited mea culpa.”

“What script?”

“Lynn’s script, which means your job is to answer her questions. Don’t editorialize or go off on tangents. Isn’t that what the lawyers in your office tell witnesses who are going to testify in court?”

“Yes.”

“Apply the same advice to yourself.”

Amy could hear the tension in Bernie’s voice. The light on the phone lit up, and Amy pushed it.

“Your call is on hold,” Janelle said.

“She’s on with me, too,” Bernie said. “Take a deep breath, relax, and go with the flow.”

“Send it through,” Amy said to Janelle.

When she saw Lynn Colville’s face, Amy was immediately reminded of her fourth-grade teacher, Ms. Edmondson. The similarity was so striking that Amy had to resist the urge to ask if they were somehow related. Like the teacher, Colville’s auburn hair was cut short, and there were rimless glasses perched on the end of her slightly upturned nose. She had thick eyebrows that she didn’t tame by plucking. After very brief preliminary pleasantries, Lynn launched into her questions, which were similar to the ones forwarded to Amy by Bernie. Amy had placed her cheat sheet on the shiny table in front of her.

“I like the concept of
Deeds
of
Darkness
,” Colville said after Amy had repeated her elevator pitch. “But tell me how you will make the transition from the heavy Christian influence in your other writing to a more literary romance novel with a strong dose of drama thrown in.”

It was one of the questions Amy had anticipated, but hearing it from the lips of the New York editor made it sound more intimidating.

“It’s my plan to avoid the stereotypical template used in most mainstream romance novels—”

“If I thought otherwise, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Colville cut in. “Talk to me about Christianity. We don’t print books intended to proselytize.”

Amy swallowed. “I’m writing a novel, not a sermon, so I won’t be proselytizing in the traditional sense of the word. The Christian influence will still be there, but I’ll introduce it in a way that’s supported by the nature of the characters. And I’ll use archetypal structure to give them texture and keep them from coming across as flat. For example, the protagonist is a damsel in distress even though she’s married with a child.”

“I see that.” Colville wrinkled her brow in a way that again
reminded Amy of Ms. Edmondson. “By spiritual, do you mean supernatural? I don’t want to publish a book that relies on deus ex machina.”

Amy was familiar with a writer’s use of a contrived event, circumstance, or influence to solve a difficult plot point. The technique had been criticized since the days of Horace and Aristotle.

“Christianity is supernatural, but it can be a part of real life without creating an unsupported basis for resolution of issues in a story.”

“I want a guarantee that you’re not going to rely on God riding in on a white horse to save the day.”

Amy recalled that was exactly what happens in the book of Revelation.

“What Amy is saying,” Bernie cut in, “is that her writing has depth and doesn’t need tricks.”

“One writer’s trick is another writer’s stock-in-trade,” Colville replied. “And before I take another step with the two of you, I need to know where the road is going.”

“To big sales,” Bernie said. “Amy hasn’t started to tap into her potential for—”

“Save it, Bernie,” Colville replied.

Bernie shut his mouth. Colville stared into the camera at Amy before speaking.

“Do I have a guarantee that you’re not going to hijack a good story and turn it into religious pabulum?” Colville asked. “It’s better to get this out on the table now rather than you waste six to nine months.”

“I agree with you about that,” Amy said. “But I want to tell the story the way I believe my heart and mind dictate.”

“I’ve heard enough for today,” Colville said. “Bernie, what’s the status of discussions with other publishers?”

“We talked with Diana Carmichael earlier today.”

Colville raised her eyebrows. “Where was Kate Heigel?”

“She asked Diana to handle the preliminaries,” Bernie answered.

Amy squirmed in her chair.

“Because she didn’t want to give you the bad news herself.” Colville nodded knowingly. “That’s how Kate operates. She’s too nice for this business. She hates having to pull the plug. Am I right?”

“Yes,” Bernie replied, glancing at Amy.

“Don’t try to finesse me,” Colville said. “My hand is holding the chain attached to the plug, too. Amy has real talent, but if I can’t get comfortable with how she’s going to corral her religious zeal, I’m going to pull it, too.”

“It won’t be a problem,” Bernie said. “Amy is ready to step up to the plate for a big-league team.”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Colville asked. “Should she play in the major leagues or a church league?”

“This isn’t a problem; it’s an opportunity,” Bernie said. “When can we expect to hear from you?”

Colville glanced at her computer screen, then at Amy.

“Can you send me any more sample chapters?”

“Yes.”

“Do it tomorrow, and I’ll get back to you next week. Bernie has my contact information.”

“Thanks, Lynn,” Bernie replied. “You won’t regret—”

The screen went blank as Colville abruptly ended the video call. Amy picked up her cell phone.

“Are you there?” she asked Bernie.

“Yes. That went well.”

“Are you kidding?” Amy asked. “She thinks I’m a religious fanatic.”

“And a talented writer. Lynn grilled you because that’s what she’s going to face from her bosses. If she didn’t like your answers, she would have yanked the chain she mentioned and ended the call. She wouldn’t waste her time reading more sample chapters if she didn’t believe they would be good.”

“I’m not so sure,” Amy replied doubtfully. “You sound overly optimistic.”

“You’d better hope I’m right,” Bernie replied. “Because if I’m wrong, you’re going to be an orphan writer without a place to lay her head.”

Amy swallowed. Bernie had never sounded so harsh.

“I do,” she said.

“I’ll send you her e-mail address. Send the chapters to me, too.”

After the call ended, Amy went to the kitchen, poured herself a rare cup of afternoon coffee, and resolved to dive into her office work. Her writing career might be teetering on the edge of a cliff, but she had skills that Mr. Phillips appreciated.

She logged on to the information database and entered specific information about Dr. Lawrence Kelly. She retraced her steps and reviewed the personal information she’d already found. The doctor was as squeaky clean as Nurse Jackson, without the added complication of a special-needs child. His two children attended a public elementary school, and his wife worked as a part-time teacher’s aide at the school. That made Amy wonder if the doctor might be in some sort of financial difficulty. Student loans for college and medical school could be astronomical, and the amount of money a doctor could earn as an internist in a small town might not be that great. But unlike Beverly Jackson, there was no indication that Dr. Kelly was a beneficiary of Mr. Dominick’s will. Amy paused.

Unless there was a secret side agreement between Jackson and Kelly.

If such an agreement existed, it would be virtually impossible to prove. It wouldn’t be in writing, and Amy couldn’t imagine either of them admitting such an arrangement in a deposition. Nevertheless, she entered her thoughts into the information she was going to send Chris.

Continuing her research, she saw a reference to a Lawrence Kelly with a California address. Beside Kelly’s name was an icon indicating the presence of a criminal record. Even though there was a few months’ difference in the dates of birth for the two men, Amy followed the link. When she did, she found a conviction for sexual battery against a minor, Internet child pornography, and a requirement that this Kelly register as a sex offender. The possibility that her Dr. Kelly was living a double life on opposite sides of the country was too remote to include in the memo for Chris. Asking a witness an inflammatory question
with no basis in fact never served a valid purpose and made the lawyer look stupid.

Mr. Phillips didn’t return to the office before Amy left for the day. She was glad for the time to be alone and allow her thoughts and feelings to settle down. When she pulled into the driveway, Jeff’s truck was already there. Inside, she saw fresh flowers on the kitchen table. Jeff poked his head in from the family room.

“Check the oven. There’s no need for you to fix supper. I brought a full meal home from LuAnn’s Restaurant and put it in to keep it warm.”

“Thanks, but what’s the occasion?”

“Do I always need a reason?”

“No,” Amy responded slowly. “And the flowers are beautiful.”

“You deserve them.”

Before Amy could spoil the moment by telling Jeff about the phone calls with the editors, Ian came bounding down the stairs.

Suddenly, there was a thud and a cry of “Ouch!”

“What’s wrong?” Amy dashed out of the kitchen and found Ian holding his left arm.

“I missed the last step and landed on my arm.”

He moved it back and forth gingerly. Jeff held the arm in his hands and pressed it gently.

“Does that hurt?”

Ian winced. “A little, but I can move it. When it broke it just hung there.”

“Should we take him to the ER?” Amy asked Jeff.

“No,” Ian responded emphatically. “I’m starving, and Dad made us wait to eat until you got home.”

Amy looked at Jeff.

“Let’s keep an eye on it during supper,” Jeff said. “If it gets worse or starts to swell, we can go to the hospital.”

Amy took Ian into the kitchen where he sat in his chair and rested his arm gingerly on the table. Jeff called upstairs for Megan to come down for supper.

“What’s wrong with Ian?” she asked as soon as she came into the kitchen and saw his arm propped on the table.

“He tripped going down the stairs and landed on it.”

Ian held up his arm and moved it back and forth.

“But it’s feeling better now.”

“Do you think he tripped because he’s been using drugs?” Megan asked.

Amy was taking the baked chicken Jeff had brought home out of the oven.

“What a crazy thing to say,” she replied.

“That’s what you would have asked me if I’d tripped. Why should it be any different with Ian?”

Amy looked at Jeff and silently pleaded for help.

“Did you have a bad day at school?” he asked Megan.

“Not if you think it’s good when your best friend stabs you in the back.” Megan bit her lip. “And you find out that she’s been planning it for weeks.”

Amy put the chicken down and faced Megan.

“Bethany?” she asked.