by Winnie Reed
“I’m sorry, babe,” I sighed. “You’re the total package. He’s an idiot and I hate him and now he’s Pitiful Paolo. That’s his name.”
She tried not to giggle, but she failed. “That works.”
“And he’s pathetic, too, because he’s too stupid to see that he needs to lock you down, stat. You’re the sort of girl who comes along once in a lifetime.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re my friend.”
“Hey. I’d straight-up marry you if we both felt so inclined. You know that.”
“I wish I were home,” she admitted with a frown.
“You’ll be back by Sunday, right? My conference ends on Monday. Maybe we can get together next week and you can give me all the presents you bought me.” I crossed the fingers of my free hand for her to see.
She sounded a lot more like herself when she burst out laughing. “Gee, how’d you know?”
“You bought me something?” I gasped, astonished.
“Maybe,” she winked. “Yeah, let’s get together. Now I have something to look forward to. Meanwhile, you get to hang out with a bunch of famous writers this weekend. You’ll be too cool for me by the time I get back home.”
“Oh, right.” I snickered, rolling my eyes. “Too cool. That totally sounds like me.”
“Hey, you get to rub elbows with lots of popular writers. Who knows who you’ll get to meet and become best friends with and completely forget me over?” She got a little wistful toward the end, poor thing.
“I highly doubt that,” I sighed. “Besides, I’m not there to make friends. I’m there to attend the food writing sessions.”
“You already know how to write, God knows.”
“That sounded like a compliment, so I’ll take it as one.”
“You know it was,” she chided, wagging a finger at me. “And listen. Don’t discount getting out there and meeting people. It’s called networking.”
“Oh, is that what it’s called? I thought networking had something to do with computers.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ha, ha.”
“You know I’m no good at that sort of thing. You’re much better at it than I am.” I winked. “Maybe I should be the one in Rome, while you go to this conference for me.”
“You’re good at it!”
“I am not. I get all flustered and end up saying the wrong things. I sound like an idiot.”
“Networking is nothing more than making friends with people. Believe me,” she added when I blew a frustrated sigh through pursed lips. “People can smell it a mile away when somebody’s approaching them just because they want something from them. Nobody wants to have anything to do with somebody like that—in business, or anywhere else.”
“See, that’s the sort of networking that sets my teeth on edge. It’s slimy and gross.”
“It doesn’t have to be! All you have to do is be friendly. That’s what people respond to. And I know you can do that. You’re better at it than anybody I know. You always find a way to connect with people. Maybe it comes from working in the café since you were old enough to stir batter.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “That’s true. If I could learn how to manage the kooks who come into Mom’s café such a young age, I guess I can handle anybody.”
“That’s all it is. Just get to know people. Ask them questions. We both know you’re good at that, too,” she said. “Maybe you owe a lot more to unpaid child labor than you originally thought. Working in a town where everybody knows everybody else’s business taught you all sorts of things.”
“If you were implying that I’m nosy, you’re lucky you’re on the other side of the world.”
“Nah. Just good at teasing things out of people that they wouldn’t ordinarily share. You’ll crush it this weekend.” Then, she frowned. “Geez, is it that late already? I have to go. I have dinner plans.” I was right about that, at least. People really did eat super late over there.
“Enjoy. Eat some pasta for me.”
She giggled, and it was good to hear. “Please. Like I have a choice. Ciao, bella.”
“How cosmopolitan,” I swooned before ending the call. Funny, how empty the room could seem even though she hadn’t actually been in the room with me.
I left the phone on the bed, sighing as I looked down at my dog. “Let’s hope things turn around for Auntie Raina soon,” I murmured, crossing my fingers.
I then reminded myself that I was talking to a dog who had no fingers to cross and who had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. As far as she was concerned, I was just moving my mouth and making noises.
Unless I said the word treat, in which case she knew exactly what I meant.
Which reminded me, I had to pack those in her little travel backpack. Not that she wore a backpack, because that would be ridiculous unless they made them in her size which would be adorable. “Now, you’d better be a good girl this weekend. Aunt Darcy is being very nice, agreeing to watch over you.”
Lola cocked her head to the side, which always completely undid me. Like, did she know how painfully cute she was?
“Why can’t you stay with Grandmom? Good question. Because she never stops shoving doggy treats down your throat—or regular people treats, which is even worse—and I’m afraid you’re going to blow up like a balloon. Pretty soon, your little belly will be touching the floor. And it’s my job to keep you healthy, right?”
She lay down on the bed, her chin on her paws, while dark puppy eyes stared up at me.
I shrugged. “Well, you don’t have to like it. I’m the mommy, and I make the rules—but it’s only for your own good. You’ll understand one day.” I shook my head at myself. “No, she won’t, Emma. Because she is a dog.”
Though sometimes I would’ve sworn on a stack of Bibles that she wasn’t.
A glance at the clock told me I had to get moving. The conference was only right up the road in Paradise City, no more than a half-hour drive, but I wanted to have time to settle into my room and register with the rest of the early birds. Maybe I would have time to follow Raina’s advice and introduce myself to a few people.
The next morning would kick off three days of nonstop sessions, speeches, and opportunities to meet authors from all genres of both fiction and nonfiction writing. “I’d better remember my tote bag,” I said, patting Lola on the head as I crossed the room and fished in my closet for the bag in question.
After all, there was supposed to be a ton of swag available. Free books, pens, mugs. I was never one to give up free swag. Especially books.
And if I didn’t read them, my sister certainly would. She was always on the lookout for new authors whose work she could sell in her store.
“Even though she’s doing this for free, there’s no such thing as free pet sitting,” I informed my dog, who watched me with her usual curious expression. “But I think paying in books I didn’t actually pay for is probably the easiest I would get off. Do you think?”
No, she didn’t think. Because she was just a dog.
I hope you enjoyed Corpse in a Crate!
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Copyright © 2019 by Winnie Reed
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