"Like what?" Jane asked.
"Like who are the writers she represents? We know Felicity is one, but you'd think she'd mention others."
"I think most of her authors wouldn't want to be mentioned," Jane said. "It would invite people with crappy manuscripts to send them, claiming that someone like Felicity had recommended the agent. Even if Felicity had never heard of the person."
"Hmm. I hadn't thought of that," Shelley said. "I suppose it could even happen to you if you were to be listed on the site. You haven't heard from Ms. Silverstone yet, have you?"
"Not yet."
"I'm sure you'll hear from her soon."
"Things in publishing sometimes go very slowly, I think. Especially in August and December. And there are still two other agents who are the heads of their agencies and specialize in selling mysteries."
"Are you interested in seeing the whole dress rehearsal tonight?" Shelley asked.
"Not especially. But if you want to, I'll stick it out. I'd like to see how the costumes and sets
look, if nothing else. You drive this time. I'm starving for spring rolls and you'll get us there sooner."
"But you already ordered them for lunch." "So? What's your point?" Jane asked.
Mel's request to search pawnshops for old golf drivers paid off all too well. They had come in in droves. Eight of them at least. Three were clearly new. A waste of time. He took note of which officers had turned them in. The other five needed to be examined more closely. The more there were, the longer it was going to take. He looked them over and only sent three along to the experts.
If positive results didn't come in, there were two more he'd have to submit. All of them as per his instructions had been bagged and the searchers had tried to find out, as best they could, who had pawned them and where they'd found them.
Jane had eaten two whole appetizers — spring rolls and crab Rangoon, her favorites — and spicy orange-flavored Mongolian beef. Half of which she'd brought home. She'd also gone through four cups of jasmine tea. She stuffed the box with the leftovers in the fridge and nearly ran to the downstairs half-bath the moment she,reached home. As she came out, the phone started ringing.
She glanced at the caller ID and saw that it was a New York City number.
"Is this Jane Jeffry?"
"Yes, this is she," Jane said breathlessly.
"I'm Annie Silverstone. Did I catch you at a bad time?"
Jane got a grip on herself and said, "Not at all. I've been hoping to hear from you."
"I love this book, Ms. Jeffry."
"Thank you. Please call me Jane, if you like."
"Okay, Jane. And you'll call me Annie. I'd like to represent you. But I wanted to tell you how I work before we go any further. I don't expect my authors to sign a contract. I don't work with people I don't think I can trust. I've spoken to Felicity and she says you're honorable."
"That's good of her to say that."
Annie continued. "Most agents used to charge ten percent of what the author earned. In recent years, most have gone to fifteen percent. I stuck with going halfway between — I charge twelve and a half percent. But I also charge for a few other things, like FedExing advance reading copies to reviewers that the publisher doesn't send to. And I write contracts that save the foreign sales for us, when I can. I often send copies of books to overseas publishers as well."
"That sounds fair to me. I'm so new at this that I didn't know what to ask," Jane admitted.
"You'll learn fast. Now — you are writing another historical mystery, aren't you?"
"I am. It's not about Priscilla, though."
"That's good. It's hard with historical mysteries to keep one heroine perpetually involved in murder. When is this one set?"
"Edwardian. I'm still researching. I have a vague outline and the first few chapters — at least I think right now that they're the first chapters."
Jane was surprised at how calm she felt. Annie was leading her through this important discussion with skill and tact.
"I'm sure we're going to work together well. Do you ever visit New York City?"
"I haven't for a long time. But I could."
"I'd like to meet you in person soon. And I'll need a bit about your background, anything you think would interest the marketing people or readers. Could you e-mail me something within the next week? Two hundred words or so."
Jane smiled to herself. This was going to be easy, and it would probably surprise Annie to learn that Jane had grown up all over the world with her diplomat father and her mother and sister. She'd save the story about the French teacher who taught a bunch of twelve-year-olds to pick locks. That would be a good story to tell Annie when they met in person.
"Would the middle of next month be a goodtime to meet?" Jane asked. "I'll have all my children back in school by then."
"Perfect. We're going to make a great team. I'm so pleased at how professional you already seem to be. I especially liked that you answered the phone saying 'This is she.' Shows that you know your grammar. Let me know so I can schedule a lunch at a very expensive restaurant and a meeting with my staff."
Mel felt obligated to attend Dennis Roth's funeral. Aside from Denny's parents and an elderly aunt and uncle, he was the only other mourner present. It was a short service and a short drive to the old cemetery. Mrs. Roth was stoic throughout both the funeral service and the burial. It fell to Mr. Roth to introduce Mel to the aunt and uncle.
As they all headed toward their cars, Mrs. Roth said, "Detective VanDyne, your people missed something."
"What do you mean?" he asked politely.
She handed him a small blue cardboard envelope with a snap on it. He knew right away what it was. A safety-deposit box key.
"Where was this?" he asked.
"In a pocket you failed to notice in his billfold. We want to know what bank it's in, but you have better resources and staff to find that out. Frankly, we don't want to spend days calling banks."
Mel tried to hide his fury. This was, indeed, a huge mistake. He'd find out who had gone through Denny's belongings and packed them up — and tear a strip off whoever it was. "Let me write down the box number on the key. I'll get back to you as fast as I can. I'm making this my first priority. I'll know what bank it's at and let you know before the day is out."
Back at his office, he assigned four people to divvy up the names of every bank in the city, gave them the safety-deposit box number, and told them to personally call on every bank on their list and report back when they found the right one, which better be today.
Then he went about finding out which officer had inventoried and boxed up Denny's belongings. He noticed that the billfold was listed. Ten dollars and twenty-seven cents in it. Two credit cards. Two call tags from a tailor, one coupon for a fast-food restaurant and another for fifty cents off on a local dry cleaner. A California driver's license, a picture of his parents with him as a teenager.
A checkbook was also mentioned. Mel went down to where the four officers he'd assigned the chore of finding the bank were convening. He told them to continue but not to start out until he determined where the,checkbook was from.
He called the officer who'd boxed Denny'sthings and told him to come directly to his office immediately.
The officer who'd signed the inventory was there in minutes, looking terrified. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yes, I do. You missed something very important in boxing up Dennis Roth's belongings. Who else was observing you doing this?"