“I appreciate that,” Amy replied.
“I almost called this weekend, but I had to wait for a confirming e-mail that popped up on my computer a couple of minutes ago. It looks like we have an auction on our hands. Two New York publishers want to bid for your services. An acquisitions editor named Kate Heigel got back to me late last week and tripped over her toes apologizing for not letting me know that she’s convinced you have a chance to be the next big thing. It seems she misplaced my query and didn’t find it until her dog knocked a stack of papers off her desk. Once she read your synopsis and sample chapters for Evil Deeds of Darkness, she immediately downloaded your first novel and read it in one sitting.”
“The title for the new novel is Deeds of Darkness, and unless the editor is a speed-reader, it would be impossible to finish A Great and Precious Promise so quickly.”
“Right, but remember these people are pros. They can absorb a book like a sponge picks up water. And when the editor squeezed it out, she saw flecks of gold in it.”
Even for Bernie it was a convoluted comparison.
“And you think she’s serious about a contract?”
“Oh yeah. And when I told her who else was in the running, she tossed down the gauntlet. Believe me, when this lady wants something, she gets it. I don’t know the limit of her authority, but it’s probably in the low six figures before she has to go to a committee.”
Bernie rattled off the names of several famous authors the editor had acquired over the years.
“And that doesn’t include the rough-cut diamonds she’s dug out of the mud.”
“Is that what I’ll be?”
“You bet, and I’ll be proud to hold you up so anyone can see the facets of your genius waiting to be cut and polished by someone who really knows what they’re doing.”
“What happens next?”
“In the old days, you’d be getting on a plane to New York, but it’s a new world order. Both of the editors want to interview you via video conference, and then we’ll set a day for the bidding.”
“Will you be on the phone calls?”
“Of course, and on the day of the auction, you and I will have a private line open so we can discuss the offers before responding. You’re going to love it. It’s one of my favorite things to do. You don’t gamble, do you?”
“No.”
“Well, for you this will be ten times the rush of splitting kings and doubling down at a high-stakes blackjack table in Vegas.”
Amy wasn’t sure what Bernie meant and didn’t care to find out.
“What are they going to ask me in the interviews?”
“The usual stuff about your work habits, plot and character development, ideas for future projects.”
“I don’t have any ideas for future projects. I’m still at the beginning stages of Deeds of Darkness.”
“It doesn’t really matter whether you toss out an idea that has a snowball’s chance of ever being written or not. They just want to make sure you have a fertile imagination. Jot down a couple of three-sentence pitches. You know, boy and girl grow up together as friends in their small-town neighborhood, then secretly fall in love as teenagers but never tell each other because they think the other person would think it was weird. Later, their paths cross as adults, but they’re already in relationships. The book is about getting a second chance to fall in love; however, they’ve changed so much as grown-ups the reader isn’t sure it’s going to work out, or should work out.”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
“Yeah, another one of my clients is writing that book as we speak. She doesn’t have your moral sensibilities, so it’s not going to be next to your novels on the bookstore shelf. But you could take the same basic plotline, and by the time it came out the meat grinder of your imagination, no one would recognize it was from the same cut of meat.”
Amy hesitated. “I wouldn’t be comfortable doing that.”
“Borrowing isn’t the same thing as stealing, but it’s not important,” Bernie said, then paused. “Tell you what. I’ll ask an editor buddy who doesn’t work for either one of these companies to send me a list of sample questions that he’d ask so you can at least get a feel for what to expect.”
“That would be great.”
“You got it. Now, get to work so you can make it to quitting time at the law office and go home to your real job.”
After the call ended Amy tried to let her excitement at the interest from two big publishers in her writing overcome her fear of what lay ahead at the law office.
As soon as she organized everything for Mr. Phillips’s arrival, she buzzed Janelle.
“Has Chris Lance come in yet?” she asked.
“He came by my desk two minutes ago on his way upstairs.”
“Thanks.”
Amy pressed her lips together for a few moments. She resolutely stepped into the hallway that led to the stairs.
thirty-one
Chris wasn’t in his office when Amy looked inside.
“What do you want?” a male voice immediately behind her asked in a commanding voice.
Amy jumped. It was Chris.
“Why do you keep sneaking up on me like that?” she asked.
“I wanted to make sure if you were about to steal something from my office I would catch you in the act.” Chris grinned.
“You sure came into work in a good mood.”
“Why shouldn’t I be in a good mood?” Chris beamed. “I’m going to be a father!”
“Wow. Congratulations. Is Laura thrilled?”
“Over the top. She thought she might be pregnant when all the stuff happened with the Westside Lighting case. That made it even tougher on me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why do you want to see me? Did you see me holding a baby boy in a dream?”
“No, but I do want to talk to you about a dream.”
They stepped into Chris’s office. Amy pushed the door closed until it almost shut, then sat down.
“It has to do with the Dominick estate,” she said.
Chris snapped his fingers. “Let me guess. Sanford Dominick isn’t dead. He’s living at Graceland where he and Elvis have started a garage band.”
“No, Chris, this is serious.”
“All right. I’m listening.”
Amy took a deep breath.
“You need to find out if there is any connection between Mr. Dominick’s death and the woman who was taking care of him at the time.”
“The home health-care nurse?”
“Yes, Beverly Jackson.” Amy paused. “And Dr. Lawrence Kelly, the doctor who signed the death certificate.”
Chris sat up straighter in his chair.
“Are you accusing them of killing Dominick?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know.”
Chris leaned forward. “Was anyone else in the dream?”
“Yes,” Amy replied with a sigh. “Mildred Burris.”
“What? Isn’t she your spiritual guru?”
“I wouldn’t use that term, but she’s encouraged me in my faith.”
“This is really crazy.” Chris shook his head from side to side. “Start with the dream and tell me everything you remember, exactly as you saw it.”
For a reason she didn’t understand, Amy felt a serious check about providing Chris any details.
“I want to keep the dream part private, okay?” she said. “Its only purpose is to get you to investigate.”
“I have to have a factual basis to accuse people of murder.”
“I’m not saying it was murder.”
“Then what are you saying?” Chris asked with obvious exasperation.
“That your job is to find ways to challenge the validity of the will that cuts Natasha Dominick out of most of the estate. Mr. Phillips mentioned that the treating neurologist will testify that Mr. Dominick wasn’t mentally competent at the time—”
“Or maybe he won’t. This is so strange that you bring this up. I inte
rviewed Dr. Robinson on Friday, and he is a bit shaky on the key points. He says Dominick was in and out of lucidity up to the end. If someone caught him on a good day, Dominick might have the capacity to understand what he was doing. However, most of his days were bad, and he might not recognize someone he’d known for years.”
“Which makes what I’m suggesting even more important. Look, I think Natasha is a gold digger, but that doesn’t mean she should lose out based on a will that should not be accepted for probate.”
“I’m tracking with you on that. But what in your dream made you think that isn’t going to happen?”
Chris was circling back for another try. Amy licked her lips.
“Are you willing to ask Nurse Jackson and Dr. Kelly questions about the circumstances surrounding Mr. Dominick’s death?”
“Of course, but if I don’t have any idea what I’m trying to uncover, it’s going to be a very short deposition.”
Amy spoke slowly. “Do you know the cause of death listed on the death certificate?”
“Yeah, pneumonia.”
“What if it should be asphyxiation?”
Now that she’d said the word, Amy felt worse, not better.
“You believe the nurse and the doctor smothered Dominick?”
“Maybe.”
“And Ms. Burris was there, too?”
“In the dream they were in a room in Ms. Burris’s house, and she was watching. Whether she was really there when it happened, I don’t know. I can’t believe she was.”
Chris’s eyes were wide open.
“What did they do? Put a pillow over his face?”
“No, it was something big and black and square. I’m not sure exactly. Mr. Dominick seemed to be struggling for a few seconds, and then he went completely still. At that point everyone in the room seemed happy about what had happened.”
“That is incredibly creepy.”
“Are you taking this seriously?”
“Yeah, but I feel like slapping myself to make sure I’m not dreaming right now.” Chris popped himself on the cheek. “I’m awake.”
Amy regretted saying anything to Chris, but she also knew having the same conversation with Mr. Phillips would have been even more awkward.
“That’s it,” she said, standing up. “I’ve got other work to do.”
“Sure, and I’ll try to figure out how to bring this up when I depose Nurse Jackson, Dr. Kelly, and Ms. Burris. Actually, Mr. Phillips told me if we depose Ms. Burris, he’s going to handle it.” Chris paused. “Is there anything you’re not telling me?”
“No, that’s all.”
“Okay. If you remember anything else, let me know. I mean it.” Chris tapped his fingers together in front of him as he thought. “But even if what you saw is true, getting someone to admit they smothered an old man is a long shot. That sort of thing only happens on low-budget TV shows.”
“If you have to exhume the body because of other claims against the estate, maybe a forensic doctor could take a second look at the cause of death. That would give you reason to ask your questions.”
“Yeah.” Chris nodded, then looked at Amy. “Have you thought about putting something like this in one of your books? It might make for interesting reading.”
Amy had heard enough. She turned toward the door and walked out.
“Hey, it’s just a question,” Chris called after her. “Thanks for stopping by.”
Amy ignored him and continued toward the staircase. The verse about casting your pearls before swine came to her mind. But what else was she supposed to do? Based on her previous experiences, keeping quiet wasn’t an option.
Chris’s cavalier attitude made it tougher for Amy to know what to say about Dr. Ramsey, the geologist. In that situation, the only person she could talk to would be Mr. Phillips.
She left the office during her lunch break and drove to the park so she could eat a sandwich. To get her mind on something else, she took along Natalie’s story. It was warm outside, and she sat on a bench at the edge of a grassy area where people brought their dogs for a walk. She took a bite of her sandwich. A man walked by with a forlorn-looking basset hound on a leash. The dog’s face reflected Amy’s mood.
Amy started at the beginning and read to the place where she’d stopped working. She made a few minor tweaks to what she’d already revised. With her sandwich in one hand and a red pen in the other, she continued with the story. The red pen got a good workout striking through entire sentences and shortening others considerably. Striving for maximum efficiency, she found her voice for the story. A crisper style would open up the narrative to younger readers, and simple elegance would appeal to older readers and grown-ups. During the twenty minutes she sat on the bench, she accomplished more than she would have thought possible. She slipped the pages and illustrations into a large envelope and returned to her car.
Back at the office, Chris had prepared notices to take the depositions of Beverly Jackson and Dr. Lawrence Kelly and laid them on her desk for mailing. On top, he’d left a Post-it note: I did take you seriously. I’ll ask Mr. Phillips to schedule Mildred Burris’s deposition.
The ball was now rolling. Amy wasn’t glad about it, but in her heart she knew the circumstances of Mr. Dominick’s death had to be confronted. Whether the truth would come out was beyond the scope of her dream. She knew God rarely showed the whole journey at once. Walking in the light was a one-step-at-a-time process.
The doctor’s appointment for the removal of Ian’s cast was scheduled for later in the afternoon. Amy wanted to get her concerns about Dr. Ramsey out in the open, but Mr. Phillips was out of the office. As she was leaving to pick up Ian from after-school care, her cell phone rang. It was Bernie.
“I know,” Bernie said as soon as she pressed the Receive button. “You don’t have to say it. Two phone calls from me in the same day is a record. But this news can’t wait.”
“What is it?”
“I’ve never seen acquisitions editors chomping at the bit like these two women in New York. You’d think they hadn’t eaten in a week, and you were a big, juicy steak. They want to talk to you tomorrow. They couldn’t agree on which one would go first, so I suggested that I flip a coin to decide. I didn’t let them know I decided while the coin was in my pocket.”
“What did you do?”
“Set the order the way I wanted to. Lynn Colville, the more aggressive editor, needs to go second. Knowing someone else has already had the chance to sway you will make her cut to the chase and put on the hard sell.”
“But we won’t be talking about money tomorrow. This is the get-acquainted meeting.”
“That’s a delicate way to put it. By ‘hard sell,’ I mean each editor will try to convince you their company is the one to launch you into the bookselling stratosphere. They have big enough egos to believe what you think about them is important.”
“It is, isn’t it? I loved working with Cecilia.”
“Then consider tomorrow a form of speed dating. However, the goal isn’t to find true love.”
Confused, Amy asked, “What is the goal?”
“Amy, publishers are like pawnshops. You don’t pick a pawnshop based on the color of the shirt the guy behind the counter is wearing. You go with the one that offers you the best deal for what you have. This is the same. Both of these women are likely to pass you off to an associate editor for the nuts-and-bolts stuff of massaging a manuscript. Don’t get me wrong. They’ll keep an eye on the process. But their strength is recognizing talent and getting the horse into the company’s stable.”
Each phone call from Bernie was turning into an educational experience.
“Are you going to have time to send me potential questions from your editor friend?”
“Where are you now?”
“On the way to the doctor.”
“You’re not sick, are you?”
“No, Ian is getting the cast off his left arm. He broke it a few weeks ago riding a four-wheeler.”
“
Sometimes I forget you live out in the country.”
To Bernie, Cross Plains was a rural area.
“The questions will be in your in-box as soon as you get home along with the schedule for the phone calls.”
“I have to work tomorrow.”
“Not from noon until three. Are you going to take the calls at the office or from home?”
“At the office, if it’s okay with my boss. I had to leave early today for Ian’s appointment. Mr. Phillips is going to question my priorities if I want to cut the middle out of my workday.”
“He won’t tell you no. The guy knows how good you are and won’t do anything to upset you and rock the boat. We have to strike while the iron is hot. Bye.”
Amy wondered how Bernie could be so sure of Mr. Phillips’s response. She pulled into the parking lot for the after-school program.
Ian enthusiastically went through the procedure of getting his arm out of the cast.
“How long should we limit his activities?” Amy asked Dr. Fletchall.
“Normal use is fine. In fact, I encourage that. But I’m assuming Ian’s definition of normal would be extreme in some dictionaries.”
“Exactly.”
“No jumping from the top of high buildings and no contact sports for another two to three weeks.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” Ian replied. “Baseball practice won’t start until next month. And baseball is safe.”
“But they use a hard ball,” Amy replied.
“He’ll be fine by then. Just use a glove, not your arm to catch.”
Ian kept rubbing his arm as they got in the car.
“It feels weird,” he said.
“Does it hurt?”
“No, just kind of itchy.”
The visit to the doctor’s office had gone quicker than Amy expected. She glanced at her watch.
“Do you want to buy your dad’s birthday present?” she asked Ian. “We have a few extra minutes.”
“Is it this Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“Has Megan already got him something?”
“No, but I can take you by yourself.”
“What does he want? He likes that thing I gave him at Christmas for his truck.”
“The AC/DC adapter. He uses it every day at work.”
The Living Room Page 32
