Page 13 of Crime and Publishing

But he was right about the price tag. As an author accepted for the retreat, I receive a stipend toward my travel costs, but I still had to pay for my room and the retreat fee, not to mention for all the guys to stay, too. Morrie offered to pay the bill for us, but even his eyes popped out when he saw the final figures. I’d heard the retreat used to be different, a lot more casual, but I’d also heard it was a bit of a boys’ club, and I was happy they were at least trying to be more inclusive, even if the cost would prevent some writers from attending.

“Who are all these other people in the room?” I asked Christina, who had definitely shown herself to be the friendliest of the writers. “It sounds like there are forty or fifty people here.”

“Oh, they’re special invited guests of Donna’s. Most of them are other writers or publishing industry folk, or previous retreat graduates. Donna’s parents were both writers, and they used Meddleworth as a bit of a literary salon, which between you and me is not a path to riches. When I was here last it was clear the place was falling apart, but they didn’t seem to care as long as they were surrounded by writers creating things. After their tragic deaths, Donna took over the castle, and she’s been trying to make the place profitable with the spa and the classes.” Christina swept her arm around the room. “Would you believe that all these people have been badmouthing her for months, talking about how she’s stomping on her parents’ legacies? But they’ll all show up for the free Champagne and canapés.”

“Ah. I get it.” I smiled as I thought about the way some people acted after I started making changes at Nevermore. “That sort of thing rubs the literary snobs the wrong way. I get a little of that at my bookshop. People complain that the popular genre fiction gets pride of place in the displays over such vital classics like Dickens and Tolstoy and the Brontë sisters, but the truth is that we have to put out what sells. People should be able to read what they like, no judgments given. And if we don’t make money, another independent bookshop dies.”

“Exactly.” Christina grinned. “Hey, can I do a signing in your shop, maybe? I want to support independent bookshops.”

“I’ll take care of the details.” Killian shoved his way in front of her and leered over me, obviously sensing the chance to make a deal. “When her new book comes out with Red Herring Press, it’s going to be a huge smash. You’ll need to order at least a thousand copies, but I’m sure you’ll sell out—”

“He’s here!” someone behind us whispered.

“About time,” another man grumbled. “I don’t think I can stay in this stuffy, stodgy room another minute. Could you pass me another bubbly? These are all free, aren’t they?”

“The man himself arrives.” Killian nudged Christina. “Come on, my beautiful prize. Let us get you some face time with our soon-to-be golden ticket.”

That’s such a weird way to talk about your girlfriend.

“Ooooh!” Christina drifted away without even saying goodbye. A moment later I heard her blowing air kisses to someone near the doorway. “Hugh, darling. It’s so good to see you again.”

“The eagle has landed,” Morrie whispered.

He didn’t have to tell me. There was a flutter in the air as everyone in the room gravitated toward an imposing figure who appeared at Donna’s side beneath the enormous double doors. I shifted my weight between my feet, suddenly nervous. Over there was a man who could make my dreams come true. I’d already had one career crushed by discrimination. Ineededthis to work.

“Are you going to talk to him?”

“I…” I struggled to find the words. “I don’t want to push my way through everyone and be just another face in the crowd. I don’t think you should bombard someone before they’ve even made it to the bar. Perhaps I’ll…I’ll go to the bathroom.”

“Bwack bwack bwack.” Morrie did a chicken dance.

“Shhhhh.” I swatted his hand. “I’ll talk to him later. I promise.”

I directed Oscar down a long corridor toward the bathrooms. There were two bathroom stalls and then a separate disabled bathroom. I pulled Oscar into the disabled bathroom, did my business, washed my hands, and then reached into my purse for my lipstick, trying to force the butterflies flapping around my stomach back into their cage.

“You’ve got this, Mina,” I reminded myself. “You are the daughter of one of the most famous poets of all time. You have literally slayed a centuries-old vampire who came from a horror novel. You can go out there and talk to a man about a book.”

But first, I’ll just do a little touch-up. Then I’ll walk out there and wow Hugh Briston’s socks off.

I reapplied my lipstick, checked that my hair wasn’t drooping, and was replacing the lipstick in my purse when Oscar let out a whine.

“What’s the matter, boy?”

I turned to the locked bathroom door just as something heavy pounded against it. My heart leaped into my throat. The heavy wooden door groaned as it was battered from the other side.

It sounded like someone was trying to break the door down!

CHAPTERSEVEN

“What…what’s going on?” I called out, my breath catching. “This bathroom is occupied.”

“Awwwwwwwwwooooooo,” a voice called back. My heart hammered against my ribs. The thumping and banging continued. Oscar scrambled over and pawed at the door. I didn’t want him anywhere near it, because it sounded like the door might give way at any moment. I grabbed Oscar’s harness and yanked him back, making him sit by my side as I frantically tried to figure out what to do next.

I know, I’ll call Heathcliff. He’ll scare the brute away.

I pulled out my phone and had just commanded it to dial Heathcliff when I heard another voice outside the door, faint and muffled through the thick wood and the even thicker castle walls.

“Argh, Fergus, you get back, you old beast.”

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