by Jae
Mara leaned back in her seat and swirled her spoon through the foam left over at the bottom of her mug. Normally, the soothing background noise of clinking ceramic cups, the hiss of an espresso machine, and the murmur of conversations inspired her, but today even the familiar sounds did nothing for her.
She wanted to kill the noisy group of tourists who apparently presumed the other customers wanted to hear every word of their conversation. But then again, she’d have to find an effective murder method first. The loud hip-hop music blaring from the earbuds of the teenager slouched at the table next to hers didn’t exactly help either.
She sent him a glare. Maybe electrocution would work. Could you get zapped into the great beyond by your cell phone or MP3 player?
Probably not. Besides, she’d already killed someone off with electricity. No. She needed something else. Something unique.
Sighing, she dropped the spoon into her empty mug. She needed another caramel macchiato. Hey, could that be the perfect method she was looking for? Was there such a thing as caffeine poisoning?
Her cell phone rang before she could get herself another coffee. She fished her cell phone out of her backpack and flipped open the protective cover. Her mood instantly improved when she saw the name on the display—Hayley Wheeler.
“Can you die of a caffeine overdose?” Mara asked instead of a greeting.
A moment of silence filtered through the connection.
“Good morning to you too. I’m doing just fine, thanks for asking.” Despite the mild rebuke, Hayley’s sexy voice was laced with humor.
“Good morning,” Mara repeated dutifully. “How’s my favorite editor today?”
“I’d be flattered if I didn’t know for a fact that there’s not exactly a lot of competition in that category.”
“Details, details. Okay, you’re my only editor, but you’d still be my favorite even if I had a dozen.”
“I’d better be, since I single-handedly saved the main character in your last book from wearing a T-shit instead of a T-shirt.”
“Hardy-har-har,” Mara said. “I will hear that until I fall face-first onto my keyboard and croak, won’t I?”
“Oh yeah. You bet you will.”
Mara groaned, but the familiar banter still made her smile. God, she loved a woman with a sense of humor and a way with words. Add to that a killer smile and a good command of grammar and syntax, and Mara was a goner. Too bad that this particular woman was her editor—and Mara wasn’t even sure she was gay. Chances were she was either a lesbian or bi, considering she edited lesbian fiction for a living and had even put together a pretty hot lesbian erotica anthology last year. But it wasn’t a sure thing, and Mara had never managed to come up with an inconspicuous way of finding out. How did you ask the person whose gently wielded red pen had helped garner you four literary awards if she might possibly be interested in women?
Mara’s overactive imagination immediately presented a scenario where she sent Hayley an e-mail saying, Do you think I should cut the prologue and start with the detective’s point of view? Should that sentence at the beginning of chapter eighteen have a comma or a semicolon? Oh, and while I’m asking you questions… Are you gay?
Nope. Out of the question. Mara switched her cell phone to the other ear. “So, what about that caffeine overdose? Do you think a grown woman could die of it?”
“No,” Hayley said without hesitation. “Trust me. If that were possible, I’d have shuffled off this mortal coil at least an hour ago.”
Christ, now she’s quoting Shakespeare. Mara tried not to swoon and instead focused on what else Hayley had said. Her tone had been lighthearted enough, but after two years, four novels, two dozen video calls via Skype, and more e-mails than Mara could count, she knew Hayley well enough to detect the undercurrent of frustration in her voice. “Rough day?”
“Just a tight deadline for a new manuscript from a first-time author.”
Some of the writers in Mara’s critique group were newbies, so she knew how time-consuming and exhausting editing a debut novel could be. “Ugh. I don’t know how you do it. All those dragging openings, heaps of adjectives, info dumps, and point-of-view violations…” Mara shuddered. “I think I’d be ready to commit hari-kari with my red pen after the first chapter.”
“It’s hara-kiri,” Hayley said, making Mara smile.
God, she’s so predictable. Predictable, but cute. Even the occasional text messages Hayley sent her used perfect grammar and proper punctuation. None of them ended with a string of acronyms such as C U l8r—unfortunately.
“Fine,” Mara said. “I’d commit hara-kiri, then.”
“Most manuscripts aren’t that bad. I actually find it pretty rewarding to mentor our newbies and help them grow as writers.”
That was typical Hayley. She never complained or gossiped about any of Mara’s fellow writers, even the ones who deserved it. The woman was the epitome of professionalism. Mara admired that about her, but it probably also meant that Hayley would never start a relationship with one of the authors in her charge, even if she was a lesbian.
“And every now and then, I get to work on a truly excellent manuscript,” Hayley added. “Like yours.”
Even knowing she probably looked like a Cheshire cat on an ecstasy high, Mara couldn’t help grinning as if she’d just won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” She paused. Are we flirting? Or just joking around? She wasn’t quite sure.
Hayley cleared her throat. A creaking sound drifted through the cell phone, and Mara imagined Hayley leaning back in her office chair, the blouse stretching over her generous breasts, the way it had during their last video call. Good thing Hayley didn’t suspect that she had inspired not just the description of Mara’s latest heroine but also several late-night fantasies.
“So,” Hayley said, “why are you asking about lethal caffeine doses? Are you overindulging in that five-hundred-calorie milkshake you call coffee again?”
Mara peeked at her empty mug. It had been her third. Busted. When had Hayley gotten to know her so well?
“Don’t worry about the caffeine,” Hayley said. “All the sugar in those things will kill you long before the caffeine does.”
Mara sighed. “That’s not why I’m asking. It’s for the new book. I’m trying to come up with a halfway creative plot.”
“And?”
“Zero, zip, zilch, nada, niente, rien, niets, nichts—”
Hayley laughed. “Okay, okay. I get it. Stop showing off your language skills.”
Well, how else was she supposed to impress a woman who made her living with words? “Everything I’ve thought of so far seems either lame or I’ve already used it in one of my previous novels. I need something fresh. I don’t want to be one of those writers who basically write the same book over and over again.”
“Agreed. Actually, I’ve been thinking about that too.”
“You have?” God, Hayley would be the perfect woman for her. She lived in an imaginary world populated by fictional people for most of the day too and would understand when Mara started to scribble on napkins during dinner dates. She would probably even chime right in when Mara complained about the plot holes in the movies they watched. The same couldn’t be said for Sue, the ex-girlfriend from hell.
“Of course,” Hayley said. “As your editor, I have a vested interest in your continued success.”
Was it really just that? Mara wanted to believe that they had become friends and Hayley wanted her to succeed for personal reasons too. “So, what do you suggest?”
“I love your mysteries. I really do. But I think you should consider…branching out a little. Make your stories a little…sexier.”
The combination of Hayley’s voice—smooth, silky, and confident—and her saying the word sexier distracted Mara for a moment. She nearly missed the meaning of her words.
“You want me to write a…a…romance novel?”
Hayley huffed out a breath. “Don’t make it s
ound as if I asked you to write a trashy dime-store novel that involves a lot of damsels in distress, heaving bosoms, and moist love caves.”
Mara burst out laughing. Love caves? Had any of Hayley’s writers ever used that term in a manuscript? She was almost afraid to ask. “I don’t know. Even without the heaving bosoms and the love caves…”
“Come on. Putting a little romance in your books wouldn’t be that bad, would it?”
“Not that bad?” Mara’s voice ended on a squeak. “Hayley, I kill people for a living!”
“On paper. Jesus, Mara, if you keep saying it like that, I’ll have to bail you out of jail. Do I really have to remind you of what happened when you called the poison control hotline and asked how many belladonna berries were needed to kill a two-hundred-pound man?”
Heat flooded Mara’s face. Just like the little T-shit mishap, she’d never live that down. She peeked up from her notebook. Several patrons of the coffee shop were now staring at her as if she were Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer, and Jack the Ripper all rolled into one. Great.
Loud enough for everyone to hear, Mara said, “I’m a mystery writer. I write police procedurals and murder mysteries. I don’t do,” she lowered her voice, now speaking just to Hayley, “sex. I mean, sex scenes.”
“They’re called love scenes, not sex scenes.”
“Same thing,” Mara grumbled.
“No, it’s not the same thing at all. Love scenes are an expression of the characters’ feelings for each other. It’s all about emotional intimacy, even if, on occasion, it might be hard and fast and up against a wall.”
Mara tugged on the neck of her T-shirt as heat pulsed through her body. Jesus, Hayley!
“Whereas a sex scene—”
“I know, I know.” If she didn’t stop Hayley, she would overheat and her attentive audience would call an ambulance because they thought she was having a stroke or something.
“Besides,” Hayley said, “not all romance novels need to have a love scene, despite what some people might think, if that’s why you’re so reluctant to try writing one.”
Wonderful. Now Hayley thought she was a prude. “That’s not it. Really. I have nothing against sex. I mean sex scenes. Love scenes. Jesus.” No other woman had ever managed to fluster her like this without even being in the same room—without ever having been in the same room.
A soft chuckle drifted through the line.
The erotic sound made Mara flush even more. She fanned herself with her notepad. By now, half of the coffee shop’s patrons were probably listening in on their conversation. If any of the laptop-equipped people at the nearby tables were fellow novelists or, worse, comedians, she was providing them with some first-class dialogue. “I’m fine with love scenes,” she said as calmly as she could. “It’s just… I don’t know. Romances are just not my thing.”
Hayley was quiet for a moment. “On the page…or in real life?”
Mara’s mouth went dry. In the two years they’d been working together, Hayley had never asked her such a personal question. Was she just trying to deepen her understanding of the woman behind M.C. McKinney, award-winning author of lesbian mystery novels, or did she have a personal interest in the answer?
“Sorry,” Hayley said, interrupting the rare silence between them. “I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” The last thing Mara wanted was for Hayley to think her private life was off limits. If it were up to her, Hayley would be her private life. “When it comes to real life, I’m a big fan of romance. Admittedly, I haven’t had much success in that department lately. My last girlfriend… Well, let’s just say I had my reasons for naming my next murder victim after her.”
That should let Hayley know she was single and a lesbian, right? Just in case Hayley hadn’t read her author’s bio.
Hayley chuckled. “Ouch. Let me guess… She dies a horrible, excruciatingly slow, very painful death?”
“That’s for sure. I just haven’t figured out the details of her demise yet.”
“Nail gun?” Hayley suggested.
“Oooh! That has definite possibilities.” Mara scribbled it down on her notepad, underlined it twice, and drew a large exclamation mark next to it. “Sounds like you’ve got an ex or two you wouldn’t mind killing off too.”
Hayley gave a noncommittal hum. “Don’t we all?”
Mara waited, but Hayley left it at that. Damn. No mention of the ex’s gender or whether Hayley was single too.
“Listen, Mara…”
God, she loved the way her name sounded coming from Hayley’s lips. She made the dot of the exclamation mark into a little heart, then scrunched up her face and crossed it out. Maybe she should try her hand at a romance novel after all. She had the cheesy stuff down pat.
“I don’t want to change your style or talk you into writing something you’re not comfortable with. If writing a romance isn’t for you, that’s just fine. That wasn’t what I was suggesting anyway.”
“Then what were you suggesting?”
“Have you ever considered romantic suspense novels?” Hayley asked.
“Romantic suspense?” Mara drew out each syllable.
Another hum from Hayley. Somehow, she managed to make even that sound sexy. “Yeah. Or, in your case, romantic mystery. You could still have a mystery with dangerous criminals, nail-biting tension, and clever police work; you’d just add a romantic subplot.”
“If it’s not that different from what I’ve been writing, why try a new genre?”
“Easy. Sex sells.”
“I thought they’re called love scenes, not sex scenes.”
“Touché.” Hayley’s tone revealed that she was smiling. “But you know what I mean. Lesbian readers prefer contemporary romance novels. Even established authors of mysteries like you will never sell as many copies as someone who writes romances or romantic suspense.”
Mara knew that all too well. Her bank account knew it too. Some months, she had to take on copywriting jobs for local companies so she wouldn’t have to go back to her day job. So far, she had never considered changing what she wrote just to make more money, and she didn’t want to do it now, but maybe Hayley was right. There were only so many ways to kill a person. If she wanted to keep her writing fresh, she had to think of something else.
Giving Detective Walker a girlfriend might be an option. It would humanize her, make it easier for readers to identify with the workaholic detective, and provide a nice source of internal conflict. And if she included a little romance in her manuscripts, at least she would be able to live vicariously through her characters since her own love life was nonexistent. She could even model the love interest of the Hayley-inspired detective after herself. She shook her head at herself. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t go that far.
“I know it’s not fair,” Hayley said. “But it’s just the reality of lesbian fiction publishing, and I hate to see you struggle. You deserve a much wider audience.”
Mara smiled. Hayley never failed to let her know how much she liked her writing, handing out praise along with constructive criticism, but it was still nice to hear it again. “Could I still kill off Sue?” Mara finally asked.
Hayley laughed that special laugh of hers, the one that had gotten Mara the first time they’d talked on the phone and that always made her smile in reflex. “We could put it in the publishing contract if you want.”
“No, thanks. I trust you.”
The laughter stopped. “Thank you,” Hayley said, her tone now serious. “Thank you for hearing me out. Even if you end up not following my suggestion, that means a lot.”
Mara didn’t know what to say to that. What? The great author is speechless?
“You don’t have to decide right now,” Hayley said when Mara remained silent. “Think about it for a while. We can talk about it some more when we see each other next month.”
Next month. The mere mention sent a tingle through Mara’s body. They would both attend a lesbian fiction conference in Wash
ington, D.C., and meet in person for the very first time. After having a crush on Hayley for nearly two years, the thought of coming face-to-face with her was equally exciting and terrifying. What if Hayley didn’t live up to her expectations?
Mara suppressed a snort. As if. It was more likely that she would embarrass herself in front of three hundred and fifty lesbians—including her colleagues, beta readers, and critique partners—by confessing her undying love for her editor up on stage should she receive another award.
“All right,” Mara said. “See you at the GCLS con, then.”
“Right. And if you need anything before then, call me.”
Anything? Did that include a date for the dance on the last night of the conference? Mara didn’t dare ask. Chicken. And you write bone-chilling mysteries for a living? Bah! Pathetic. “Does that include…?” She took a deep breath. Come on. Be a woman. Ask her out! What have you got to lose?
“Yes?” Hayley prompted.
Mara clutched the edge of the table. “Does your offer include…? Well, I was wondering…”
“Yes?”
“Could we maybe…? I mean, would you have time to get together during the con to brainstorm ideas for unique murder methods with me? I’ll even buy the coffee. Don’t worry—black, no sugar. None of that five-hundred-calorie milkshake or those other horrendous additions that destroy a perfectly good cup of coffee for you.”
Not hesitating for a second, Hayley said, “It’s a date.”
“Great. I will—” Mara snapped her mouth shut. Had Hayley just said…date? Don’t read anything into it, dummy. It’s just a figure of speech.
But Hayley made a living by choosing the right words in the right place. She wouldn’t have said it if she didn’t mean it, would she?
Mara’s cell phone chose that exact moment to start beeping, indicating that the battery was about to die. No, no, no. Not now! “Oh, crap.”
Beep, beep, beep.
“If you’d rather keep things strictly professional, I understand.” Hayley sighed. “I just thought…”
“No!” Mara’s heart beat so loudly that it drowned out the annoying beeping of her cell phone. “I mean, yes! I’d love to have coffee with you…as a date, not just a business meeting.”
