Whole Lotta
Trouble
STEPHANIE
BOND
Contents
Chapter 1
Tallie winced. She got it, and about twenty others like…
Chapter 2
Felicia Redmon dropped into her desk chair and sorted through…
Chapter 3
Tallie stepped into The Bottom Rung at a few minutes…
Chapter 4
Felicia’s words stayed with Tallie as she climbed up three…
Chapter 5
Felicia wiped the flour from her hands on the hem…
Chapter 6
“You can let me out here,” Tallie told the cab…
Chapter 7
Felicia looked up as Tamara stuck her head inside the…
Chapter 8
When Tallie returned to the office, she was still reeling…
Chapter 9
Wearing opaque sunglasses, Felicia settled into a comfortable chair with…
Chapter 10
Tallie held her breath as she climbed the stairs to…
Chapter 11
“Good evening, Ms. Redmon,” the doorman said to Felicia as she…
Chapter 12
Tallie’s phone was ringing when she walked into her office…
Chapter 13
Tallie stared at the man sitting across her desk while…
Chapter 14
“Jerry Key’s office, this is Lori.”
Chapter 15
Tallie walked out of the door of the Hills Hotel…
Chapter 16
Felicia laid her head back against the bathtub and sank…
Chapter 17
Tallie slept with the telephone…when she slept. Mostly she…
Chapter 18
Felicia stepped off the elevator and rushed through the reception…
Chapter 19
Tallie disconnected the call and stared at her silent computer…
Chapter 20
Halfway to her office, Tallie realized that she’d forgotten the…
Chapter 21
“Bye,” Felicia said, then waited for Tallie and Jané both…
Chapter 22
The phone jolted Tallie awake Saturday morning. She did a…
Chapter 23
Tallie dragged herself to the grocery Saturday afternoon, then spent…
Chapter 24
Felicia decided that the pain she’d been referring to over…
Chapter 25
“Miss?”
Chapter 26
Keith was over a head taller than her, his body…
Chapter 27
Felicia walked into the crowded chapel wearing dark sunglasses and…
Chapter 28
Tallie made her way nervously toward Felicia and Jané, knowing…
Chapter 29
It was smart thinking, Tallie concluded, to equip the police…
Chapter 30
Bored with sitting, Felicia stood and paced the small room…
Chapter 31
“Lieutenant Wages will give you a ride home,” Detective Riley…
Chapter 32
The next day, Tallie was still reeling over Jané’s arrest…
Chapter 33
Felicia shouldn’t have been nervous waiting in the sitting room…
Chapter 34
Tallie stared at the cell phone, unable to believe it…
Chapter 35
Tallie climbed the stairs to her apartment, trying to decide…
Chapter 36
Felicia sat at her desk, replaying in her mind the…
Chapter 37
Tallie picked up her ringing phone. “Tallie Blankenship.”
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
By Stephanie Bond
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
Dear Mr. Blankenship,
My name is Richard Wannamaker. After retiring from the IRS, I decided to write a story about my roller-coaster life as a cost accountant. Enclosed please find my 500-page autobiography, a volume I have fondly entitled Journal Entry—get it?
Tallie winced. She got it, and about twenty others like it on her desk every week. Reams of paper containing stories utterly inappropriate for the mystery and romance fiction lines for which she acquired. It wasn’t that she didn’t admire the man for creating the tome, but if he’d researched Parkbench Publishing at all, he would have known they weren’t looking for autobiographies. And that she wasn’t a Mr., but a Miss. Miss—as in unmarried and unlikely to be in the near future. If only Richard Wannamaker had been on her mother’s Christmas card mailing list, he’d have been privy to that tidbit, courtesy of her mother’s annual Blankenship Bulletin, complete with pictures, favorite family recipes, and news. This year’s headline:
YES, OUR BEAUTIFUL, SUCCESSFUL DAUGHTER IS STILL SINGLE!
It was almost February and she was still recovering from that one.
Tallie sighed and forced her attention back to the cover letter in her hand.
My brother-in-law is a tax attorney and will be handling the contract negotiation—
A rap sounded at her office door and Tallie glanced up to see her assistant, Norah, stick her fair head inside. “Is this a bad time?”
“No—please save me.”
Norah gestured to the mound of curled manuscripts on Tallie’s desk. “Wading through the slush I flagged?”
Tallie nodded and rubbed her eyes. “And a few you didn’t. Ron tripped over one of my floor stacks the other day, so I thought I’d better do some housecleaning. What’s up?”
Norah looked apologetic. “Ron wants you in his office. He seems…agitated.”
Tallie’s stomach convulsed. Executive Editor Ron Springer was always a handful for the editorial staff to deal with, but lately he’d been wound as tightly as his name implied, snapping at the least provocation. Tallie had secretly wondered if the health of the company was in jeopardy, or if Ron himself was experiencing personal problems, but she wasn’t about to put her middle of-the-road job on the line by asking. She had rent to pay, and a three-meals-a-day habit to support.
“Tell him I’ll be right there.”
Norah disappeared and Tallie pulled a mirror from her desk drawer, quickly checked her lipstick and her teeth, then smoothed a couple of dark strands back into her chin-length bob. Her hand stopped suddenly, and she yanked the mirror closer in disbelief.
Her first gray hair. She almost choked on the irony. While she was home during the holidays, her mother had accused her of letting her childbearing years slide by, and right on cue, here was an outward sign that her innards were aging. She knew that at thirty-four, she had no reason to complain, but it was still a blow…and it would remain her best-kept secret lest she give her mother another headline for the holiday newsletter.
OUR SPINSTER DAUGHTER IS GOING GRAY!
She replaced the mirror and slammed the desk drawer. Hoping that Ron wasn’t about to deliver news to add more silver to her head, Tallie grabbed a pad of paper and a pen, then walked in the direction of her boss’s office.
The bullpen was its usual beehive of activity, keyboards clicking and printers whirring, voices raised to be heard over cubicle walls. Although grateful for her ten-foot-by-ten-foot office with an actual door, she missed the camaraderie that she’d shared with her coworkers when they’d all been interns and assistants, still in awe of the publishing process and of the movers and shakers in the industry. All of the women she’d started with nine years ago had moved on to positions at other publishing houses or had left the industry altogether. She, on the other hand, had found a home at Parkbench and had man
aged to grow a stable of prolific and modestly successful writers. No New York Times best sellers yet, but she had high hopes for two books coming out in the spring.
The department walls were lined with framed covers of some of the company’s best-selling authors—Dewey Diamond, Grace Sharp, Linda Addison. It still gave Tallie a thrill to see the faces and signatures of writers she’d grown up reading.
Parkbench had made its mark in the 1950s with film noir spin-offs, then they’d developed successful mystery series in the 1960s and ’70s. In the ’80s, the company had cashed in on the romance genre boom and continued to grow their line of thrillers. In the last twenty-plus years, Parkbench had become known as a boutique publisher, one of the few privately owned houses left after the merging madness of the ’90s. They were small, but mighty, with a reputation for being author-friendly. Some of their writers had been around for longer than Tallie had been alive.
Kara Hatteras, aka Scary Kara—editor in the health and nutrition books section and Tallie’s nemesis—came out of her office and arranged her Botox-puffy face into a smug expression. “Hello, Tallie.”
Tallie was forced to stop, since the Nordic giant towered over her and was standing with her legs wide enough for a child to walk through. “Hi, Kara.”
“Have you heard that my book The Soup to Nuts Diet is going to be featured on CNN?”
Tallie bit the inside of her cheek; Kara never gave credit to her authors and bragged endlessly about “her” accomplishments. “Um, no, I hadn’t heard. That will be great coverage for the company.”
Kara lifted her finger and wagged it precisely. “No. That will be great coverage for me.” She dipped her chin. “I heard through the grapevine that our department is going to be reorganized. This little media coup might be just the thing for Ron to finally make me an associate senior editor.”
Ahead of Tallie, she might as well have said. Tallie managed a tight smile at the woman whose surgically enhanced lifestyle was the antithesis of the books she edited. “Good for you, Kara.”
Kara made a rueful noise. “Don’t worry, Tallie—even though you haven’t hit any home runs, I’m sure Ron appreciates the little things you do around here.”
Tallie gritted her teeth. But Kara’s condescension aside, Tallie hadn’t heard any rumors about a reorganization—because she was going to be reorganized out onto the street? Was that why Ron had been acting so edgy lately, because he was going to have to fire someone?
Her?
“Oh, Tallie,” Kara said, leaning down. “Is that a gray hair?”
Tallie froze. “No.”
“I think it is.”
“No, it isn’t. I have to be going. Ron wants to see me.” She hadn’t meant to say that.
Kara looked sympathetic. “Good luck.”
Tallie pushed past her and, with heart tripping overtime, headed toward the hallway where Ron’s corner office was located. His assistant Lil was coming out of his door, and she gave Tallie a warning look when they passed.
Tallie’s stomach churned as she walked into his office.
Ron glanced up from his desk, where he was frantically scribbling in the margins of a memo, and frowned. “Close the door, Tallie.”
She did, truly worried now. Ron’s handsome face was flushed, and his normally perfectly knotted tie was pulled to one side.
“Sit,” he ordered.
She sat in one of two sleek Eames chairs that faced his desk. Ron collected chairs—he claimed they would be worth more than his stock portfolio when he retired. She herself would be sitting pretty if “some assembly required” furniture became collectible.
While Ron finished his note-making, she glanced around his office, never failing to be impressed by his accumulation of industry awards and the achievement of his stable of world-class authors—Britt Manning, Gaylord Cooper, Stella Roundtree. According to her sources, Ron could have left Parkbench and taken a more prestigious position at least a half dozen times, but his dedication to his authors was legendary.
Tallie adored him, and she’d wasted her first two years at Parkbench lusting after him from afar until one of her bullpen buddies, Felicia Redmon, had informed her that Ron Springer was gay.
“He is not,” Tallie had said, devastated. “He’s in the Army Reserves, for heaven’s sake.”
Felicia had scoffed. “Haven’t you heard of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’? Oh, let me guess—there are no gay men in Circleville, Ohio?”
Tallie, sensitive about her rural upbringing, had lifted her chin. “The man who owned the two car washes in town was gay…allegedly.”
“Well,” Felicia had said gently, “let’s just say that if Ron ever visited Circleville, he’d get his car washed.”
“But Ron doesn’t have a car,” Tallie had said.
She cringed now when she remembered the conversation—her naiveté had been the butt of more than one joke among her friends.
But that was years ago—before the accent reduction class and before getting mugged—twice. Now she spoke with shortened i s and carried a personal alarm that sounded at twenty decibels above the threshold of pain. And she could generally tell if a man was gay.
When she had heard Ron declare that Beaches was the best movie ever made, she had conceded that he was, indeed, gay. The problem was, before Felicia had informed her of his sexual orientation, Tallie had confided her crush on Ron to, of all people, her mother, who had gotten it into her head that Tallie and her “handsome boss” would someday wind up together. Tallie had elected not to divulge to her mother the extent of the impossibility of her and Ron’s “winding up together,” because it would have simply generated more drama. Besides, what was the harm in giving her mother a little hope that she would someday find a nice guy, fall in love, get married, have twins, quit her job, and move back to Circleville to live in a house on the same street as her parents.
But if Ron canned her, she’d have to come clean with her mother, which might prompt a special mid-year edition of the Blankenship Bulletin.
Ron sighed noisily, then looked up and seemed startled to see her sitting there. His gaze was unfocused, his expression slack. Panic blipped momentarily in Tallie’s chest.
“You wanted to see me, Ron?” she prompted.
“Oh…right.” He ran his hand through his immaculate blond hair, leaving it standing at all angles. He tossed down his pen. “Um…Tallie, how long have you been working here?”
Oh, God, here it comes. “Nine years.”
“Nine years,” he repeated, looking thoughtful. “In that time, I think we’ve become friends, haven’t we?”
She knew next to nothing about his personal life, but she nodded congenially.
“Good, because I have a favor to ask.”
Her chin bobbed nervously. “Anything.”
He sighed, then leaned back in his chair. “Gaylord Cooper will be here Thursday to deliver his last book on his current contract.”
Tallie nodded. Gaylord was the darling of their publishing house—two hardcovers on the NYT best-seller list last year, both at number one. Ron had found the man’s work in the slush pile fifteen years ago, and the rest was publishing history. The one drawback of working with Gaylord, though, was his…idiosyncrasies. The man mistrusted everyone, especially the government, and refused to use computers or telephones. He typed his intricate thrillers on an ancient Underwood typewriter and conducted all business face-to-face, including hand-delivering his finished manuscripts.
Ron shifted in his chair. “I’m going to be away from the office for a few weeks, beginning tomorrow. Since I won’t be here, I was thinking I’d have you take over the editing of this manuscript.”
Tallie felt her eyes go wide, but she schooled her face into a composed expression. “I-I’d be happy to, Ron, but—”
“But?”
“But how will Mr. Cooper feel about working with me?”
“I’ll give his agent a call and let him smooth the way. Do you know Jerry Key?”
&n
bsp; Her stomach crimped. “I know of him.” And what she knew wasn’t favorable.
Ron sighed. “Yeah, Jerry has a reputation, but you can handle him.”
She tried to smile. “If you say so.”
“And I won’t lie to you—Gaylord himself is one crusty customer. But once he realizes how much you respect his work, he’ll come around. Just don’t change a word of his manuscript, and he’ll be fine.”
She started to laugh, but Ron’s expression grew grave.
“Seriously, Tallie, I can’t stress enough how important it is that Gaylord remain pacified. He’ll be negotiating a new contract after this book, and I know those bastards over at Bloodworth will be trying to lure him away. I’ve assured Saundra that you’ll be able to pull this off.”
Saundra Pellum, publisher of Parkbench, emerged from her corner office on the floor above them only to reprimand, chew out, and fire. No pressure. Tallie wet her lips. “I understand, Ron. Do you have something going on with the Reserves?” Ron put in his time one weekend a month, but considering the state of the world, it was entirely possible that he was being called up.
“Um…not this time,” he said shortly.
“Oh. When do you expect to return?”
A pinched look came over his face, and he cleared his throat. “I don’t know, but I’ll be checking in periodically to answer any questions you might have.” He stood abruptly, signaling the end to their conversation.
Tallie pushed to her feet, her head swirling with questions about Ron’s sudden leave, but so honored by his trust in her that she wasn’t going to pry.
“I’ll make sure that Lil notifies you when Gaylord arrives,” Ron said. “Depending on his frame of mind, he might want to have lunch. If so, take him to Spegalli’s, because they receive consistent good marks on their health department inspections.”
Whole Lotta Trouble Page 1
