"What did he write?" Mel asked.
Both women shrugged. Jane said, "We don't know. We don't even know what name he used or what kind of novels they were. Felicity might know."
"Hmm," Mel said. Putting down the menu, he added, "I think I'll have the same thing Shelley's having. All I had at lunch was a greasy grilled cheese sandwich and a can of warm Dr Pepper. Crab Louis would erase the memory."
"Don't you want to talk to Felicity about Zac?" Jane asked.
"I may. But it's not my case. Give me her name when we return to the hotel and I'll pass it along to the guy in charge of it."
Shelley asked, "Was Zac robbed?"
"Apparently not," Mel said. "That's how we knew his name. He still had his wallet with lots of cash in it. Nobody even snatched the gold chains off his neck."
"Was the rest of the book in the van?" Jane said.
"I didn't look. Someone else might know."
The waiter was hovering impatiently. Mel and Shelley ordered their salads and Jane ordered grilled red snapper. Over dinner Jane gave Mel a short overview of people she'd met, the interviews, and which classes were interesting.
"Tomorrow the direction shifts," Shelley said. "Today was all writers, editors, and agents giving opinions. Tomorrow it's special presentations. Some touchy-feely stuff about getting in touch with your muse," she said with a disgusted shudder. "Also something called 'The Scene of the Crime'—that's probably what you're taking over, right?"
"Yup. I'm doing that and then later the forensic talk," Mel said. "What else goes on tomorrow?"
"Some off-the-premises trips," Jane said. "Volunteers are taking some people to the Field Museum, of course. Others are taking attendees to a botanical garden that has an expert on poisonousplants. There's also a class somewhere else about guns. What kinds, how to shoot with them."
Mel smiled at the image of all those women, most of them middle-aged, being carted off to learn how to kill people in their books.
"Why are you smirking?" Jane asked.
"No reason. I was just thinking of a joke someone made at the office this morning," he lied. "Not appropriate for delicate ears."
When they returned to the hotel, Jane had a message from Melody Johnson, the editor who had been encouraging.
"I've looked over your sample chapters and outline and would like to meet with you tomorrow. How does nine-thirty in the morning sound? Give me a call at room 602 to confirm."
Jane looked at her watch. It was nine thirty-seven. Probably that wasn't too late to call. Melody was presumably still out to dinner with her authors. Jane left a message confirming the time and asked where they should meet.
Mel had come up to see the suite and Shelley was showing him around while Jane was listening to and returning the phone message.
She found the two of them in Shelley's bathroom, Mel with his shoes off, testing the heated floor.
"Neat news," Jane said. "The editor wants to meet with me in the morning. I must make some notes about what I'd like to change about the plot
to make it more of a mystery and about how I'd like to tone down some of the description of the house. What time are you speaking, Mel?"
"One o'clock," he said, putting his shoes back on.
"We'll be there to hear you," Jane said.
"There's no need," Mel said. "I don't want to interfere with your plans."
"But we want to hear you," Shelley said. "We'll be there."
"Janey," Mel said. "Get on with your preparations for the appointment. I'm going down to the bar and stay out of your way."
"I'll come with you, if you don't mind," Shelley said. "Jane needs to be left alone for a while."
Jane sat on her bed with the notebook that was one of the freebies included in the conference book bags. She wrote down everything that had been simmering in the back of her mind since the interview with Melody Johnson and the subsequent panels of speakers. It didn't take her long, so she called Mel's cell phone. "Would you like to come up here?" she asked.
He said, "Might as well. Shelley's found someone else to talk to."
She greeted him at the door. He threw his jacket on a chair and followed her to her room. She'd already gathered up her papers and disappeared into the bathroom. When she came out, naked, she said, "The floor is heating up. I've set all the shower jets at a nice warm level. Let's play in there."
Shelley came back at eleven, saw Mel's jacket on the chair, and quietly went to her own room without disturbing Jane.
Mel left at one in the morning, in spite of Jane's objections. "I'm supposed to be in my room. And you need to be up early for your meeting."
Shelley and Jane were both wide-awake at seven. Melody Johnson called Jane back shortly after eight, saying she hoped she wasn't calling too early and suggesting that they meet in her hotel room, where they could speak privately. Jane agreed and quickly hopped into the shower. When she came back out, room service had brought up the simple breakfast Shelley had ordered for the two of them.
"Are you ready for your interview?" Shelley asked.
"Yes. I've made quite a lot of notes. I won't bother her with all of them unless she asks to hear them. I've put the most important changes up front in my notes."
"I'm so excited for you," Shelley said, spreading raspberry jam onto a hot Wolferman's muffin.
"Don't become too excited. It's not a slam dunk," Jane said.
"I know that. But I have a good feeling about it. Shall we go to the first presentation this morning? It's at eight-thirty"
"I might as well sit in for a few minutes, since we've paid for it," Jane said.
Thirteen
Jane had awakened that morning excited about the
meeting with the editor. She was well prepared. She knew now that she'd finished the book as a mystery. She hadn't started it, though, with anything mysterious. It was a matter of making clear there was something that was troubling Priscilla from the first chapter, and at intervals along the way. She'd even marked on her outline where these intervals were.
But in the back of her mind, rattling around, was the vague thought that she should have asked Mel something else about Zac. She closed her eyes, remembering what he'd said at dinner, but it was no help. It was a query that had flitted across her mind and vaporized instantly while he was describing the scene of the crime.
From experience she knew, or at least hoped, it would come to her when she least expected it. Halfway through a ham sandwich. Or when she was brushing her teeth or peeling potatoes. She'd
often had lost memories pop up at that kind of boring time.
Once, when someone had asked her who was the artist who did the sculptures and pictures of horses, Jane had had the name on the tip of her tongue for days. When she was loading the dishwasher, thinking about what she'd have for lunch, she had found herself shouting "Frederic Remington" out of the blue.
That time she'd nearly dropped the glass she was putting on the top shelf. And she'd scared Max and Meow half to death as they were weaving around her feet in hopes of her dropping food.
She wouldn't try to force whatever was puzzling her about Zac right now.
"Are you ready?" Shelley called out from the enormous parlor.
"I am. What are the choices at the eighty-thirty session?"
"I don't remember," Shelley said as she was making sure the door to the suite had caught and locked. "Do you have that booklet they gave us with the schedule?"