Case of the Ragin' Cajun

by Jeffrey Poole

  I shrugged. “Perhaps. Then again, I’m not going to approach every person and ask, either. Oh, man. I just spotted someone else I know.”

  “Someone you’ve met or someone you’ve heard of?”

  “Someone I’ve heard of,” I clarified. “His debut novel is in my top five favorite books of all time.”

  Tori perked up. “Oh? Who is it?”

  “Andy Weir. He wrote The Martian.”

  Vance was nodding this time. “Oh, I’ve seen that movie. It stars Matt Damon, right?”

  “Right,” I confirmed. I turned back to see if he was still there, but was surprised to see Andy Weir standing directly before me. “Umm, hey there. Sorry. I guess I should’ve kept my voice down.”

  A hand was thrust in my direction. “Don’t be. You’ve read my work? What would you say if I told you that I’ve read yours, too? I know who you are, Mr. McGee.”

  Jim McGee was the name of my pseudonym for this newest novel.

  “Ah, er, um …”

  “Wow, that doesn’t happen often,” Jillian teased. “You’ve rendered him speechless!”

  Andy Weir’s hand clasped my own. “But, I also know you’re Zachary Anderson, aren’t you?”

  “Uh, well, I, er …”

  “Both my wife and I have read Heart of Éire. Well done, Mr. Anderson. I’ve never wanted to visit Ireland more than I do right now. You did a great job.”

  “Th-thanks. I appreciate that, I really do.”

  The author of The Martian wandered off. Turning to Jillian, I shook my head. My face felt like it was on fire, so I can only imagine it was as red as a Coke can.

  “You handled that well,” Jillian teased.

  “Talk about the mother of all brain farts,” I groaned. “I must have sounded like a babbling idiot.”

  “You were fine, Zachary. And to think he knew who you were! That must make you feel good.”

  We walked on, passing by booths with authors sitting quietly behind tables laden with books. We encountered vendors selling electronic reading devices, VR glasses, and just about everything else you could think of. Artists had set up their portfolios, and in case you’re wondering why artists were there, it’s because every artist’s dream was similar to us authors: get their works in the hands of as many people as possible. In an artist’s case, if they could convince a popular author to use them to create their covers, well, it would mean a huge boost to the artist’s image. I also passed newly christened editors trying to get new clients, and I even found someone who had created some beautiful, hand-stitched leather journals.

  “This one looks like dragon scales,” Jillian said, as she pointed to a dark green five by eight inch leather journal.

  “And this one looks like an ancient manuscript,” I observed. I grinned at the young guy, who was looking eagerly at us, hoping to make a sale. “I’ll take them both.”

  We stopped at four other booths before I finally spotted something that drew me up short. “Hmm, I think I might’ve found the person we’re supposed to be meeting.”

  Standing off to the side, holding up a sign like you’ve probably seen at the airports where drivers were looking for their fares, was a young woman in her late twenties. I thought she was a little young to be wearing a three-piece suit, but she pulled it off quite well. Glancing down at my own jeans and tee shirt, I cringed. No one had said there would be a dress code here. As I approached, I watched the woman’s head swivel in my direction, but before she could say anything, her eyes dropped down to the floor and saw the dogs. Her bored expression was quickly replaced by one of pure delight.

  “Corgis! Oh, I so love the breed. They … wait. They told me Mr. Anderson would be traveling with two corgis. Are you Zachary Anderson?”

  I held out a hand. “Call me Zack. Is everyone here dressed as nicely as you are? I’m kinda feelin’ like a hick right about now.”

  The girl seized my hand and pumped it up and down. “Isabella Murphy. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Anderson. Oh, I’m sorry. Zack. And no, don’t worry about attire. We’re just glad you’re here.”

  The introductions were made, and I’m thankful to have been able to get the dogs included before any glass could be shattered. Sherlock, somehow, always knew when introductions were being made and when he was left out. Apparently, that didn’t sit well with the corgi. Once everyone was acquainted, I pointed in the direction everyone seemed to be walking.

  “So, is that where we’re supposed to go? I have to tell you, Isabella, I haven’t been to a book signing in, well, decades. I usually don’t do these.”

  “We know you don’t,” Isabella said, nodding. “And call me Bella. It’s easier.”

  “Thanks, Bella. So, who did you tick off in order to get saddled with me for the next couple of days?”

  “Once I heard you were coming, I volunteered,” Bella told me.

  “Are you a fan of Zachary’s books?” Jillian asked.

  “Every single one of them. And yes, before you ask, Zack, I know about the other pseudonym you use.”

  “It used to bother me,” I confided, “but it doesn’t anymore. I’m all right with people knowing. However, I’m pretty sure the sales would take a hit if my primary writing name became known, so I still don’t volunteer that information to anyone.”

  “Which we appreciate,” Bella said. She held up an arm and waved us over. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you where we’re holding our panel.”

  I nodded. “Sounds good. I just need to … wait. Hold up, Bella. You guys are conducting a panel? That wasn’t part of the arrangement.”

  Bella stopped and slowly turned around. A sheepish grin was on her face. “They said you were more than likely going to object. So, I’ve been authorized to … sweeten the pot, if you will.”

  “What is a panel?” Jillian asked.

  “It’s where there’s this big, long table at the front of a large group of people, with microphones, bottles of water, and so on,” I explained, still wearing a frown. “The victims, er, guests, are then asked questions by a moderator, and sometimes members of the audience. I said to you people I don’t like sitting behind a table,” I announced, raising my voice.

  I know I was starting to sound angry, and I was truly, honestly, sorry about it. However, Jillian had been right. I view these types of gatherings as nothing more than yet another way of showing everyone just how popular you are. Or aren’t. Flashbacks to high school, and getting chosen last in practically every sporting event I had ever participated in, came to mind. It was just as much fun then as it was now, which is to say, it wasn’t.

  Isabella was now holding up her hands in a pleading gesture. “Please, Mr. Anderson. Hear me out. If you’re willing to participate in the panel, then I’ve been authorized to offer you and your lovely fiancée your own private table at Antoine’s Restaurant tonight, followed by dessert from Café Du Monde.”

  With a dumbfounded look on her face, Jillian turned to me and excitedly took my arm. “Antoine’s? Have you ever been there, Zachary? It’s the country’s oldest family-run restaurant!”

  “Who’s Antoine?” Vance wanted to know.

  “That restaurant has been around since 1840,” I explained. “And, I can tell you they have a wicked Baked Alaska.” I looked at Bella, who had a smug smile on her face, as though she knew I was going to agree. “Antoine’s is a great place to eat, and I wouldn’t mind going back there. However …”

  The smile disappeared from Bella’s face.

  “… that isn’t even close to getting me to agree to join your panel.”

  “Okay, um, let me see.” Bella whipped out her phone and started firing off texts just as fast as she could type them. “Please give me just a moment.”

  “Who are you talking to?” I wanted to know. “Is it Richard?” I held out a hand and waited for her to pass the phone over. “Let’s just cut to the chase, shall we?”

  It was my turn to start firing off texts.

  “Who’s Richard?” I heard Tori ask
.

  “It’s his rep at MCU,” Jillian answered. “I’ve heard the name a few times lately. Even though he isn’t Zachary’s agent, he acts like it.”

  “What does MCU stand for?” Vance wanted to know.

  “It’s an acronym,” Jillian said. “Manheim Company Unlimited. However, Zachary came up with a completely different name for them.”

  Intrigued, Bella sidled closer. “Okay, you’ve piqued my curiosity. Could I ask you what name he came up with?”

  “Man-Chest United.”

  Bella’s eyes widened. “No, he didn’t!”

  Having overheard the exchange, I handed Bella her phone back. “Believe it. Look at the covers Chastity Wadsworth has released. The vast majority of them have naked man-torsos on them, and the women usually aren’t wearing much more. Whether you want to believe it or not, showing a little skin on the covers ends up selling very well.”

  We then heard a gasp of surprise from Bella. Turning, I could see that she had just read the exchange I had with Richard, and what MCU had just agreed to in order to get my sorry rear up in front of a number of people, doing the one thing I don’t want to do. Bella turned to look at me and then promptly gave me a mock bow.

  “You are the master.”

  Vance couldn’t contain his curiosity any further. “What is it? What did he make you guys do?”

  “They must truly love you,” Bella said. Admiration was written all over her features. “The next time I need to negotiate something, is it okay if I come to you?”

  I laughed and nodded. “Lead the way, Bella. I believe your panel is going to be starting shortly, isn’t it?”

  “Just like that, you’ve agreed to do this panel thing?” Vance skeptically asked.

  “Hey, turns out I do have a price after all. In this case, I just have to do one additional book signing.”

  “That’s not much of an incentive,” Tori decided.

  “It is if the signing is taking place in London,” I added, with a smile.

  Jillian clutched my hand tightly in her own. “They’re sending you to England for a book signing? My word! Are they covering all of your expenses?”

  “They’re covering all of our expenses,” I corrected, as I looked over at our two friends and gave them a thumbs up.

  “Hold on,” Vance sputtered. “You included us in this? We’re getting a free trip to England, too?”

  “Yep. We won’t be gone too long, maybe three or four days at the most. And, that doesn’t include travel days, since it’ll take a full day of flying just to get there.”

  “We’re all going?” Jillian exclaimed, delighted.

  “I’m just not sure about them,” I said, as I looked down at the dogs. “This time around, I think we might need to find a puppy-sitter. I don’t know if they’ll take them. I’ll have to try later.”

  “That’s a very generous offer on MCU’s part,” Jillian decided.

  “I guess I’m more of an introvert than I had thought,” I returned. “They know I’m not fond of book signings, and usually they don’t press the case like this. Apparently, though, they have discovered my Kryptonite.”

  Interested, Jillian looked up. “And that would be …?”

  I smiled at my fiancée. “You, my dear. It wasn’t enough to send just me somewhere. MCU now knows I’m more willing to go if you are with me.”

  It was at this time that our group arrived at a set of double doors, both closed. There was a printed paper taped to each door, announcing that the following panels were going to be video recorded and to make certain your cell phones were either set to silent, or else shut off. Eager to comply, I set mine to silent, followed almost immediately by Jillian. Once Vance and Tori had followed suit, Bella gave me an apologetic look and pushed open the two doors.

  There was an instant round of applause as nearly a thousand people sprang to their feet and started cheering. Sherlock and Watson, properly spooked, fired off several warning woofs. Watson then hurried to my side and tried to get between my legs. Were all these people cheering because of me? If they were going to continue to do so, then I’d have no choice but to leave, since neither of the dogs would be able to settle down.

  Thankfully, Bella came to my rescue. She hurried on to the stage and spoke with a middle-aged woman wearing a red blouse and black slacks. Perhaps she was the moderator of this panel? Whoever she was, she at least had the ability to quiet the crowds. The lady hurriedly grabbed the microphone.

  “We have to keep it down, people. You can all see our guest of honor has arrived and is accompanied by his two adorable corgis. We don’t want to scare them, do we?”

  Bella appeared and guided us over to a cordoned-off area in the front row. But, before I could take a seat, I was guided to a set of stairs leading up to the raised platform. Sighing, I passed Sherlock’s leash to Tori and headed for the stairs.

  “Welcome, Mr. Anderson!” the woman exclaimed.

  I nodded my head, but quickly came to a stop. Apparently, MCU had let it slip that I had written Heart of Éire using my newest pseudonym, namely Jim McGee. What could I say? I needed a name that sounded Irish and it was the first one I thought of. I just don’t know how all these people had found out I was the one behind it. I guess I’m not nearly as secretive as I thought.

  “I’m Marjorie Sanderson,” our host was saying. “I’ll be the moderator today for MCU. Do you know the other authors here?”

  Other authors? I leaned around Marjorie and saw that three of the chairs were presently occupied: one older man, one younger guy, and a woman who was probably no older than me. And yes, I knew them all. Not personally, mind you, but I’ve been with my publisher long enough to recognize my fellow MCU authors.

  “I did not think they’d be able to get you out here, pal,” the younger guy said. “Mark Spears. We met a few years ago, but I don’t think you would’ve remembered.”

  I didn’t, but I wasn’t going to let him know that.

  “Long time, no see, Zack,” the older gentleman said, holding out his hand.

  Now him I knew, having met him three or four times, I think. Jack Dalton has written some fantastic techno-thrillers, featuring heists involving computer hacking, cyber-terrorism, and the like. I took his hand as I got close.

  “Good to see you again, Jack.”

  “Ditto, Anderson. And you owe me twenty bucks.”

  “Huh? I do? For what?”

  Jack slapped a twenty onto Mark’s outstretched hand. “I bet against you, I’m afraid. I thought for certain there wasn’t any way in hell they’d get you up here.”

  I grinned at Jack and shrugged. “What can I say? Evidently, I can be bought.”

  This was said close enough to a microphone where my comment was picked up and broadcast to everyone present. Laughter and chuckles ensued. The moderator pointed at an empty chair next to the woman’s. As I slid into place, I glanced over at her and held out a hand.

  “It’s been a while, Cassie. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Oh, my heaven’s word,” the woman exclaimed. “Mr. Anderson, you remember me?”

  Cassie Merryman has been with MCU for a few years. She had a successful cozy mystery series featuring a female barista at a popular coffee house. Cassie’s protagonist was single, in her mid-thirties, and sharp as a tack. Her character’s keen observational skills caused her to butt heads with the local police department on more than one occasion, which, of course, was where her romantic love interest was employed. Oftentimes, the two of them would work a case together, but typically, Cassie’s female sleuth would work her case alone. Oh, I should mention that there were a couple of cats involved, too.

  “Of course. My late wife enjoyed your books.”

  “Your lovely wife has passed away? Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault, Cassie. Don’t worry about it.”

  Marjorie stepped up to the microphone and tapped it a few times.

  “Okay, I do believe we’re ready to get started. And p
lease, for the sake of Mr. Anderson’s two adorable dogs, let’s keep the chatting and the applause to an absolute minimum. Now, for you newcomers, let’s make the introductions.”

  For the next twenty minutes, I politely sat in my chair, behind this huge white table, and listened while the moderator read the bio for each author and then a list of their popular works. When Marjorie read my name, and then the alias I had written Heart of Éire under, the room erupted in applause once again. However, I could also hear both dogs barking.

  I ended up waving at the crowd to try and calm them down. Tapping on my microphone a few times, I waited until everyone was quiet.

  “Thanks, guys. As you can clearly hear for yourselves, Sherlock and Watson aren’t crazy about all this noise.”

  “Wait a moment,” Cassie said, from right beside me. “Your dogs are named Sherlock and Watson?”

  “They are, and before you ask, yes, they’ve solved quite a few crimes. When I’m not writing books, there’s a good chance you’ll find me helping out the local police department.”

  “How did I not know that?” the moderator asked, perplexed. “I thought I knew everything about you, Mr. Anderson.”

  “That isn’t something I publicize. Now, let me ask all of you something. Are you all here for Heart of Éire?”

  There were a number of shouts of affirmation, followed immediately by numerous requests to keep quiet.

  “I’m impressed. Thank you all so much for the support. I will go on record to say I typically don’t do conventions like this. It’s not really my thing. But, now that I’m here, I can answer a few questions, if you like.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Marjorie exclaimed. “Let’s open the floor for our Q & A session. Does anyone out there have a question for one of our panelists?”

  Thankfully, Jack was given the first question. Was there going to be a sequel to his latest novel? Since it clearly sold quite well, the answer to that was a resounding yes.

  “This question is for Mr. Anderson.”

  I looked up to see a young Asian woman holding a wireless microphone and nervously shifting her weight from leg to leg. “Have you ever been to Ireland?”