“And Paula?”
“I guess they couldn’t find a place for her anywhere else. Or maybe they didn’t want to. So much for her big promotion.”
“Funny,” mused Isobel. “Somehow, I don’t feel too bad about that.”
“What are you going to do now?” James asked.
“You mean, right now?”
“No, I mean for the future. You really want to keep working with me? I mean, with Temp Zone?”
“Of course. Last time I checked, there weren’t any Broadway producers breaking down my door.”
“If you’re half as good an actress as you are a detective, they will be.”
She crossed her fingers and waved them. “Here’s hoping. In the meantime, do you have anything else for me?”
“Not yet. But the next job that crosses my desk has your name on it.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.” Isobel stood up. “Well, I’d better get going.”
James rose and came around the desk. Just as she held out her hand to him, he bent down and collected her in a hug that surprised her for its gentleness. They pulled apart and stared at each other awkwardly for a moment. Then they both smiled.
“Here, let me show you out,” said James.
“No need,” she said. “I can find my own way.”
And Isobel realized, as she stepped out onto the bustling sidewalk, that she could indeed find her own way: around New York, around an office, around a theater, and, perhaps at some point in the future, around James Cooke.
# # #
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As usual, it takes, if not a village, at least a housing development to write and publish a novel, and I would be remiss if I did not single out a few people who were particularly helpful in shepherding Isobel and company to the page. First, my rapid response team: my agent, Kari Stuart at ICM, the most supportive and energetic cheerleader a writer could hope for; my eagle-eyed editor, Jodie Renner, who caught my logic flaws (and, yes, there were a few); and Linda Pierro of Flint Mine Press, who gave me another terrific cover design.
Rick Hamlin, Helen Faye Rosenblum, Elaine Greenblatt, Marc Acito, and Cornelia Iredell were early readers whose feedback influenced the end result. Liz Sanders shared her experiences from the now defunct Evangeline Residence, and Bill T. gave me insight into the workings of Bill W. Detective John Sweeney and Officer Yolanda Williams of the NYPD set me straight on points procedural, while Elizabeth S. Craig generously advised me on matters publicational. Thanks, too, to Kate Koningisor, who lived it with me and knows where all the bodies are buried. Figuratively speaking, of course.
There will never be enough words, even from me, to thank my parents, Helen and Alford Lessner, my sister, Kathy Lessner Yellen, and my children, Julian and Phoebe Rosenblum. In a category by himself is my husband of twenty-one years, Joshua Rosenblum, whom I like to describe as my rock and my redeemer.
I would also like to thank the directors who didn’t cast me and the publishers who, after praising my writing to the skies, passed on this manuscript. I’m not being facetious. As any writer or performer knows, there’s nothing like a healthy dose of rejection to clarify one’s objectives and harden one’s resolve. Without those experiences, our stories would be a lot less interesting.
Read a sample from the next Isobel Spice mystery, Bad Publicity
Isobel Spice stared at the handsome young man slumped over his coffee cup and thought desperately: not again.
She carefully set her tray of melon chunks and assorted pastries on the credenza at the side of the windowless conference room and tiptoed over to the solitary figure at the large oval table.
He’d probably just dozed off. Or maybe he’d passed out. There was no reason to think he was dead just because she’d stumbled across a dead body in an office once before.
But something about the angle of the young man’s body was just plain wrong. Isobel gingerly pressed her fingers against the pale, slender wrist. She’d never been good at locating a pulse, even on herself—she’d lied to many an exercise instructor over the years—but somehow she knew that in this case, if there were a pulse to be found, she would be able to find it.
There was nothing. Not even the faintest throb.
Isobel let the man’s hand drop back onto the table. His gold signet ring cracked loudly against the wood, startling her. She turned his hand over and was disproportionately relieved to find the ruby-colored stone still intact within its school crest. Isobel gently released his hand and slipped out into the hallway, her panic rising as she gathered steam and burst into Katrina Campbell’s office.
“Your client is dead!”
But Katrina’s office was empty.
There were several other employees on the lower floor of Dove & Flight Public Relations Isobel could run to, but for several reasons, Katrina was the person least likely to jump to the wrong conclusion. On the other hand, Isobel had to get help. Now.
She dashed back out into the hallway just as Aaron Grossman, a senior account executive, came into view at the far end of the floor.
“Help!” Isobel called, waving him down. “I have to find Katrina! It’s an emergency!”
Aaron gave Isobel an odd look and pointed over her left shoulder. Isobel turned to see Katrina, a towering, freckled redhead, coming up behind her from the direction of the small company kitchen.
“Isobel!” Katrina said, drawing closer. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost!”
“I have,” Isobel croaked. “The body, not the spirit. Come on.”
She seized Katrina’s arm and pulled her back toward the conference room.
Katrina shook her off. “What is wrong with you?”
But Isobel, who came up roughly to Katrina’s shoulder, grabbed her again and propelled her wordlessly down the hall.
At that moment, Aaron emerged from the conference room, his skin paler than usual under his heavy, dark beard.
“Help! HELP! Somebody call 911!”
“Isobel, call 911!” Katrina suddenly seemed to understand, and, breaking free, she ran toward Aaron.
Relieved to be believed, Isobel darted into the nearest office, surprising an eager young junior associate whose eyes grew wide as Isobel relayed to the dispatcher what she had seen.
By the time Isobel returned to the hallway, a small crowd had gathered around the door to the conference room. Katrina was leaning against the wall, visibly shaken. Angus Dove, a dapper, elderly gentleman wearing a tartan bow tie, was making his way slowly down the internal spiral staircase that connected the two floors of the public relations firm.
Time seemed to stop as Dove descended the steps. The crowd parted to let him pass into the conference room. He emerged a moment later.
“Will somebody please call emergency,” Dove said, his lightly Scots-accented voice wavering. “And nobody touch him.”
Before Isobel could volunteer the information that she’d called already, the hush was broken by another man galumphing down the stairs so heavily it seemed the wrought iron might give way at any moment.
“What the hell is going on?” he bellowed through lupine, nicotine-stained teeth.
“Barnaby,” said Dove, “I fear we have a little situation.”
“Don’t be such a goddamn PR flack, and tell me what the hell is going on!”
“A client, here for a meeting. Seems to have…seems to have…”
“Seems to have what, Angus?”
“Died,” Isobel blurted out, her voice projecting several notches higher than she’d intended in both pitch and volume. Angus Dove and Barnaby Flight, the two senior partners of the public relations firm, turned to look at her.
Isobel swallowed. “It’s Jason Whiteley. He was here for a meeting with Katrina, Aaron and Liz, and I had just settled him in the conference room with some coffee. I left to get the snacks, and when I came back he was dead.”
Behind Dove and Flight, she could see more employees lining the spiral staircase, conveying the news upward from rung to rung in muted whispers.
“Who the hell are you?” roared Barnaby Flight.
Isobel looked around at the sea of suspicious eyes and shrugged meekly.
“Nobody. I’m just the temp.”
About the Author
Joanne Sydney Lessner is the author of Pandora’s Bottle, a novel inspired by the true story of the world’s most expensive bottle of wine (Flint Mine Press). The Temporary Detective, Bad Publicity, and And Justice for Some (Dulcet Press) feature aspiring actress and amateur sleuth Isobel Spice. No stranger to the theatrical world, Joanne enjoys an active performing career in both musical theater and opera. With her husband, composer/conductor Joshua Rosenblum, she has co-authored several musicals including the cult hit Fermat’s Last Tango and Einstein’s Dreams, based on the celebrated novel by Alan Lightman. Her play, Critical Mass, received its Off Broadway premiere in October 2010 as the winner of the 2009 Heiress Productions Playwriting Competition. Joanne is a regular contributing writer to Opera News and holds a B.A. in music, summa cum laude, from Yale University.
Look for these mysteries featuring Isobel Spice:
Bad Publicity
In the world of PR, there’s only one crime worse than killing a deal—killing a client.
Aspiring actress and office temp Isobel Spice finds a warm welcome at Dove & Flight Public Relations, thanks to her old school friend Katrina Campbell. However, the atmosphere chills considerably when Isobel unwittingly serves an important client a deadly dose of poisoned coffee. Her stalwart temp agent, James Cooke, rushes to her aid, but balks when he learns that the victim was the fraternity brother who got him expelled from college. News that Dove & Flight is being acquired by an international conglomerate quickly supplants the murder as the hot topic of office gossip, but Isobel is convinced the two events are related. When all roads of inquiry lead back to Katrina, Isobel is forced to consider the possibility that her friend’s killer instincts go beyond public relations.
And Justice for Some
Dinner theater can be a death sentence.
Actress Isobel Spice and her best friend Delphi Kramer are thrilled to finally have an opportunity to perform together, even if it’s just a cheesy interactive murder mystery at a judge’s lifetime achievement dinner. But when Isobel’s dramatic death scene is upstaged by a real murder and Delphi is left holding the still-smoking gun, Isobel drops the role of victim and assumes the role of detective. With the help of her precocious brother Percival and her reluctant temp agent James Cooke, Isobel peels back layers of deception to reveal a shocking abuse of power—and no shortage of suspects eager to deliver justice to a man who denied it to so many.
Offed Stage Left
There’s one role you don’t want a callback for: Prime Suspect.
Aspiring actress Isobel Spice lands her first regional theater job, playing a supporting role and understudying the lead in Sousacal: The Life and Times of John Philip Sousa. A series of minor backstage accidents culminates in the suspicious death of the leading lady on opening night. When Isobel takes over the role, her mastery of the material makes her more suspect than savior, and she realizes the only way to clear her name is to discover the identity of the murderer—before he or she strikes again.
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