Murder in March

by Camilla Chafer

  "It is charming," I said. "There's a lot to do here. We get all kinds of tourists throughout the year who love the town's attitude toward celebrating. You probably saw the mountains nearby on your drive from the airport that attract lots of hikers and campers starting in the spring and going throughout the fall and there's also skiing in the winter. There are some great restaurants and boutiques too. It's a little quiet now, but it does get lively when the tourists come."

  "Perhaps you could show me around?"

  I nodded. "I'd like that."

  "I'm sure I can find the time between meetings. It would be nice to talk about your future and what you envisage."

  "Oh, of course," I said. My cheeks flushed as I realized that he meant work. It wasn't like he was asking to get to know me personally. A little bolt of disappointment shot through me.

  "If we must," said Esther. She sighed heavily. "I will set up an appointment for the three of us tomorrow. Will that give you enough time to gather your notes, Ava?"

  "I meant just Ava and me," said Mark, glancing in her direction.

  "But, but..." Esther spluttered. Her lips puckered into an appalled expression. "I represent Ava!"

  "And I pay her advances. Plus, Esther, you remarked several times over lunch that you're not interested in this charming town. I wouldn't want to waste your time when you have so many better things to do as one of the busiest agents I know." Mark winked at me when Esther looked away and I stifled another giggle. "Plus, it will give me a chance to get to know my client better and we can all get together later."

  "It's true that I'm very busy. In fact, I have a conference call in ten minutes. Now that you two have officially met, why don't we adjourn? Ava, walk with me to the lobby."

  "Yes, Esther," I said because it was the only answer I could give. Perhaps it was a good thing Esther got up. I was looking forward to dessert but not so much to listening to Esther talk through it. As Esther’s client for almost ten years, lately I wondered if we had lost whatever connection had brought us together in the first place. With a gradual realization over the past few months, I knew if I wanted to change my direction in writing, I would probably have to change agents too. Esther would only continue to pressure me into writing sure-fire money makers. I wasn't even sure if another agent would take me on if I didn't bring the Miranda Marchmont name with me. That stopped me. Could I even have a career in writing without my alter ego? The future looked very uncertain again.

  "You were very quiet during lunch," said Esther. She hooked arms with me and hauled me after her as we left the table, leaving me to scurry in my effort to keep up with her pace before I gave Mark a little wave goodbye. He smiled and signaled to the waitress for the check. She waited until we were several tables away before crossing the room, obviously unwilling to be insulted by Esther any further. I hoped Mark tipped her well. "I hope you listened carefully and realize that I'm only doing what's best for you."

  "I know you mean well."

  "What's best for you is writing what you're good at. You have a lifetime of bestsellers ahead of you. Think of what you could do with all that money!" Esther brandished her hand in the air, her eyes going dreamy as she steamed along the corridor with her glasses bouncing on her chest. My heels clicked hurriedly to keep up. At six inches taller than me, her stride was naturally longer than mine although she never showed any inclination of slowing down.

  "I have more than I know what to do with already."

  "You can never have enough money."

  "I think I have enough."

  "Hmph," Esther snorted. "Well, I'm glad you understand where your future lies. Whatever is going on with you, you need to snap out of it and get those little fingers flying over the laptop keys. Mark noticed. I noticed. No one else needs to know!"

  "Esther," I ceased walking, forcing her to stop with me for once. We halted in the middle of the lobby, people passing by us, oblivious. "Esther, we need to talk."

  Esther disengaged her arm and turned slowly to face me stonily.

  It was now or never. "Esther," I started again.

  "I know my name. You've said it three times in as many seconds."

  "Es... Um, that is..." I stuttered. "I think the two books in question are going to be my last. The rewrite and the final book, that is. Maybe not forever but definitely for now. You're right that the manuscript I turned in wasn't as good as my other novels, and I want to deliver a good book, not just another dull romance that I churn out for a fat paycheck. I am asking you to please take a closer look at my thriller manuscript. That's what I prefer to write. I want to write about all the adventures I wish I could live. I want to write about things that truly excite me."

  Esther was quiet for a long moment, then she very loudly replied, "You can send it to me again if you must, but it’ll be over my dead body if Miranda Marchmont never writes another romance! If you don't produce what I took you under contract to do, you'll never work in publishing again!" Pushing past me, she kept clomping towards the stairs.

  I gazed after her, astonished at her loud outburst. Looking around, I wondered if anyone else had heard. There was Janey at the reception desk, and a slim woman in a navy skirt suit next to her whom appeared to work at the hotel. A couple were sitting on the chairs in the lobby's seating area.

  "So," said Mark, coming over to stand next to me, side-by-side, his arm almost touching mine. I hadn't even heard him approach. "That must be the infamous Esther Drummond exit I often hear about." He caught my eye and we both shook our heads and laughed but as I watched her stomp away, I wondered if Esther planned on making my life very difficult.

  Chapter Three

  "...All I can do now is thank Ally and Jack from the Belle Rose restaurant for their superb catering this evening and to also thank you all for coming to this literary-inspired dinner, which I intend to be the first of many. I hope everyone had a wonderful time at the historic Calendar Library; now enjoy your dessert!" Sara Cutler, the head librarian at Calendar's landmark library beamed as we applauded her speech. She gracefully took her seat at the table across the room.

  "I've really enjoyed tonight," said Holly Sparkes, who was seated to my left. She thanked the waiter who placed a dessert plate in front of her before putting a plate in front of me. "I must ask Sara where she gets her hair done, and I'm glad I ran into you again, Ava. Twice in one day must be serendipity."

  "I'm glad we ran into each other again too," I said, inhaling the delicious, sugary aroma of the hot chocolate soufflé. "I was a little shy about attending by myself but I'm happy now that I did. This evening has been a lot of fun and I have some new books to add to my ever-growing to-read list." I looked at the four big, round tables. Each table was set for ten and every seat had been sold. After spotting the advertisement for the event when it appeared on a flyer in my mailbox, I promptly booked a seat. It was just what I needed to get out of the house in my quest to be more social. Plus, I loved the library and I was eager to see what it looked like since its recent makeover.

  The walls had fresh paint and the original parquet floors were sanded and waxed. Even the grandfather clock and the stained-glass window over the stairs had been included in a tender touch-up. The redevelopment launched the library into this century with a small coffee area for meetings and intimate social gatherings, along with a burgeoning ebook and audiobook library. The flower in Sara Cutler's crown was this event, apparently the first of many special nights to be held at the library. We'd all enjoyed a three-course dinner as the sun set, with an informative talk from Sara about the theme and the recommended books she had dotted around. Speaking eloquently and intriguingly about romance in literature, she explained how the food had been matched respectively. Unfortunately for me, she ended with a comment about ordering the latest Miranda Marchmont novel to a smattering of applause.

  "I don't think I'll ever get to the end of my to-read pile," said Holly. "Now that I'm managing the bookshop, the list includes everything in stock!"

  "Do you think y
ou can get Miranda Marchmont to do a book signing? I just love her novels," said the blond woman on the other side of Holly. I recognized her but I wasn't sure where from. Having spent most of the meal chatting with Holly, I didn't dedicate much time in trying to place her.

  Holly sighed. "Oh, I don't know. I sent an email to her agent, Esther Drummond, and her publisher's public relations department but both told me Miranda doesn't do signings."

  "Esther Drummond?" The woman blinked and frowned, then gasped. "She's staying at the Maple Tree Hotel! I know it’s the same lady because she gave me her business card."

  I froze. That was where I recognized her from! She was working on the hotel's check-in desk when I went there to meet Esther and Mark yesterday.

  "And you were there!" she said, leaning past Holly to look at me and clapping her hands together. "Weren't you having lunch with Esther? Hi, I'm Janey. I work on the reception desk."

  "You know Esther Drummond?" asked Holly, frowning at me.

  "Yes. That is, I don't know her very well. I do some transcribing for her," I lied quickly. "I'm a virtual assistant. I type up the minutes for meetings and other things like that."

  "Oh." Janey's face fell, then she brightened again. "Do you think you could ask her to get Miranda Marchmont to do a signing in Calendar? It would be so exciting!"

  "I don't have any sway with Esther's authors," I told her, feeling guilty when her face fell again. "I'm sorry."

  "Miranda is probably shy," said Holly. "Maybe she fears she won't match up to her readers' expectations."

  "Do you think she could be a man?" giggled Janey. "That would explain everything!"

  "She's probably eighty years old," said Holly. "I hoped she would be like Joan Collins. Impossibly glamorous."

  "Maybe she's just too snooty to meet the people that finance her life." Janey shrugged. "She probably doesn't want to waste her time signing books and taking selfies with the common public."

  "Especially not if she's a man!" Holly and Janey fell together, giggling.

  I bit my lip and resisted the urge to comment. They were definitely wrong about a few things but they did touch a nerve. I was shy and I knew I couldn't live up to any of my reader's expectations. Esther had initially liked my shyness as it enabled her to create her own persona of the author, one that she wanted people to believe. As far as anyone knew, Miranda Marchmont led the fabulous life of a jetsetter when she wasn't busy writing her latest bestseller at her secret mansion.

  Lucky me; I never had to worry about anyone turning up for a book-signing, or saying the wrong thing on camera, or failing to live up to anyone’s expectations, especially as my success grew. Even better, I avoided getting harassed constantly for the latest plot secrets or asked if my characters were someone I knew. Worse still, whether or not my latest hero was based on a local man in town!

  I liked my anonymity, even more so now I was seriously considering retiring Miranda Marchmont. No one could try to hound me about my decision or dare to persuade me otherwise. Even better, I wouldn't be the latest object of town gossip. In a small town like Calendar, gossip could become an unpleasant thing.

  "Maybe she has a beard," said Janey.

  Rolling my eyes, I bit into my hot chocolate dessert. This time, my eyes rolled back with pure joy. "This is so good," I moaned. "I need this in my life everyday."

  "It's a shame the Belle Rose restaurant doesn't have a bakery," said Holly, mercifully abandoning the topic about my alter ego and popping the last forkful into her mouth. "But I heard they're going to host a dessert night. I have to get the recipe for this. I can't bake but I'd like to read the recipe. Maybe just to look at the pictures."

  "Jack Harper wrote a cookbook," said Janey. "Maybe he'd like to do a signing at your bookshop?"

  Holly's eyes lit up. "That is a great idea. Excuse me, I have to ask him before he leaves."

  With dinner finished, the diners were encouraged to collect their wine glasses and circulate. I made chitchat with some people I recognized and met a few new people, which was pleasantly enjoyable. Everyone had something to say about the literature Sara had mentioned or the excellent food. The whole evening was gratifying and entertaining, except for Holly and Janey's guessing game, but it took my mind off Esther and Mark's visit.

  I fully expected one of them to call me after our lunch to set up Mark's tour but was quite disappointed to get a short, apologetic email this morning from Mark. It said that he was stuck with work and would call me as soon as he could so we could meet. He added that he looked forward to it. So far, there hadn't been another call and by the time six o’clock rolled around, I'd given up and gotten ready for the dinner. I didn't expect to feel so disappointed however.

  As the patrons began to leave the library, I made my goodbyes and collected my coat from the rack set up by the doors. Stepping outside, I looked up at the black sky punctuated with stars, and smiled. I loved living here. With my alter ego intact, I could continue to do so, even if it could be implied that I was secretly a man or possibly hiding a beard! Instead of upsetting me, that thought now made me laugh.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out, sighing. Esther sent me a text: Need to talk. Very important. Come to the hotel.

  I wanted to go home but I knew Esther's demands would be incessant. She rarely sent just one text message. If I ignored it, she would send me a dozen more before she would start calling. Even worse, she would come to my house! Janey and Holly both knew whom she was connected to. If another word got out about Esther, and more importantly, whom she knew, I would be grilled incessantly about Miranda Marchmont. Someone would undoubtedly make the connection eventually.

  That left me no option. I had to go to the hotel and find out why she summoned me. Thankfully, I decided to drive and hadn't drunk any wine. My car was parked outside the library so I got in, turned up the heat, and headed in the direction of the hotel, arriving less than twenty minutes later.

  I parked in the lot and walked around to the front entrance. As I stepped inside, I was glad Janey was still at the dinner and not working tonight. I wasn't sure how I would explain such a late night visit. An urgent typing catastrophe? Sure! Anyone would believe that! Instead, I braced myself, ready for Esther's onslaught. It had to be about the new thriller manuscript I mentioned to her in my email this morning. I was not quite ready to acknowledge her lengthy list of notes about my lackluster romance. She was probably furious. Whatever she had to say, I had to stick up for myself.

  "Ava?"

  I stopped at hearing the sound of my name and looked around, panic filling me. I cringed at the idea of someone recognizing me in such close vicinity to Esther. The panic dissolved the moment I saw Mark. He sat in one of the big wing chairs, a tumbler of amber liquid on the low table in front of him. Instead of yesterday’s suit, he wore jeans and a light sweater in cornflower blue that seemed to make his eyes look brighter. A jacket was laid over the arm of the chair. He stood up, and stepped towards me, smiling warmly.

  "Mark, hi," I said. The funny knot in my stomach reappeared.

  "It's pretty late for a meeting," he said. "Did I miss something?"

  "No, I don't think..." I stopped. Maybe Esther purposely intended for all of us to meet. Could that be why he was waiting in the lobby? "Esther sent me a message. Did she send you one too?"

  He shook his head. "No."

  "I'm sure it's nothing."

  "Do you always dress up for nothing?"

  I looked down at my pink dress and high-heeled, peep-toe shoes. I didn't dress up very often and only bought this dress after a hasty shopping trip in response to Esther's barbs. Until now, I never had an occasion to wear it. The literary dinner was the perfect time. "Maybe I always dress up like this," I said, putting on an air of confidence that I didn't feel. He didn't need to know that though.

  Mark waved a hand towards the chairs. "Sit with me a minute. I'm sure Esther will come down soon, since she summoned you. You know, you're not at all what I expected," he said.r />
  "Oh?" I asked as I sat down. I glanced at the stairs, then at the elevator. No sign of Esther, but she always did enjoy making a dramatic entrance. Even though I came there as fast as I could, she would probably yell at me for being late.

  Mark sat in the adjacent chair and leaned back, crossing his legs. "Not one bit," he said, smiling again. "Esther might have omitted a few things in her description."

  "Really? Like what?" My curiosity piqued.

  "Well, let's just say she must be blind. I got the impression you were older."

  How old, I wondered, and did that explain the puzzled way Mark kept looking at me over lunch? "She's not the most complimentary person."

  "Unless she's referring to herself." Mark waved his hand. "Ignore me. That wasn't professional. It's been a long day."

  "Did you only just get back?" I nodded to his jacket.

  "Oh, no. I went for an evening walk to clear my head. It was a long day of conference calls, sending emails and listening to Esther. She's a dynamo."

  "Yes, she is," I agreed.

  "I'm sorry I didn't call you to set up that tour. I got a little too wrapped up in work. I hope you don't mind."

  "Not at all. I had plenty to do."

  "Working on that next bestseller?"

  "Absolutely," I said. I had opened the file with Esther's corrections and stared at it for at least an hour. Then I closed it, and opened the document with Esther's secondary notes, which I stared at hopelessly before choosing to play with Purrdie.

  "Relax, Ava. I'm just teasing." Mark smiled.

  "Oh, I didn't..."

  "I'm not the publishing police. Your schedule is yours so long as you hit the deadlines we agreed on and so far, you've done that."

  "Not in a way that anyone is happy with," I said, my shoulders slumping.

  "We can work on it. You're a great writer, Ava, so good you could knock out a romance in your sleep; but I think that doesn't work for you anymore. My firm needs to know... I need to know how I can best work with you to complete the contract and we’ll decide where we go from there. Can we be honest?"