"William G. and Anne L."
Mel jotted the names down.
"Where can we go from here?" Officer Needham asked. She'd already gotten a bit in her mouth and was eager to pursue anything her boss wanted her to do.
"I think you need to leave that to me. I'll call some police detectives in San Francisco I've met before and ask about finding them. Apparently they stay in nice hotels. I'll tell him that a woman died on my turf and left a substantial amount of money in her will. And we're trying to find her heirs, who are seemingly staying there."
"So she left her money to them?"
Mel smiled. "Nope. She left it to various charities. Mostly shelters for abused women, and the Salvation Army. But I don't have to say that."
"How did you get the will, sir? May I know?"
"Yes, it's no secret. She lived in a luxurious condo full of antique furniture. All but the will and an old set of trust papers were in the files. But there was a key to a lockbox taped to the back of a drawer."
"But lockbox keys and paper containers have nothing about a name of the bank, sir. Just the box number."
"She'd handwritten the name of the bank on the back of the packet the key was in."
Officer Needham said, "I can understand that, sir. My grandma had a whole lot of stuff in various banks and didn't indicate what banks they were. It took my dad three years to go to each bank in Chicago. And he only found one that would allow him to use the key. The box was full of titles to cars. Most of them hadn't been owned for forty years."
Mel laughed. "That happens to a lot of people. My mother had to hire someone to open a small house safe she found behind a bookshelf in her father's house. It had the same things in it."
"May I ask another question, sir?"
"Only if you stop calling me `sir.' It makes me feel old. And I may not know the answer."
"Yes, s—. What was the trust about?"
"It's not common knowledge, and I want you to keep it to yourself"
"I will."
"It's a trust in the name of an aunt of hers, leaving her a large amount of money to house, feed, and educate her children. I assume that given that the aunt was probably much older than Miss Welbourne, she's no longer living and the remainder of the assets have gone to Miss Welbourne's children, or have been used up."
"May I have the aunt's name and look her up on my own computer at home? There are a lot of sites that list census results, and court rulings, and such."
"So long as you only give any results to me directly."
"I wouldn't ever consider talking about this with anybody else. I promise you that. And I might not be able to find out anything."
Jane was on the phone with her new publicist. The former one had decided to become an agent.
"I'm glad to hear from you,"Jane said.
The new publicist, Sandra, said, "You've received your own copies of the first book, haven't you?"
"I have. I love the cover."
"It's a good thing you and your editor and your agent all agreed to let the first two be in paperback. If the sales are good, we'll probably go to hardback for the third."
"Why is that? I'm new to this business."
"Because however charming you are at signings, most readers of mysteries don't want to invest over $24 on a new writer. But they'll pay six-fifty or even close to seven dollars to try the first two. And if they like them as well as I know they will, they'll cough up the money for the hardback for the third one."
"That makes sense," Jane said. "I feel the same way about new authors."
"Now, I've set up two chats and then signings for next week in your area. One of the mystery bookstores is downtown, one is suburban."
"Chats?"
"Just a few minutes to say a little bit about yourself Why you took up writing, or where you grew up, or whatever you feel strongly about. Make it upbeat and smile the whole time. And then ask if anybody has questions. If they don't, the bookseller will start putting the books out for you to sign. If there are too many questions, the bookseller will know how to tactfully cut them off
"Your driver will then take you to other major chains. She will call ahead to make sure they have the books readyfor signing. Oh, sign them with a colored pen. That way readers won't think it's a machine-made signature."
Jane laughed. "I never knew there was such a thing. Any other advice?"
"Just smile all the time, no matter how tired your hand feels. I'll e-mail you the times and the names of the booksellers and the name of your escort."
"May I take someone along?"
"Do you need someone along?"
"My neighbor and best friend would like to go with me, and give me a heads-up if I quit smiling,"Jane said.
"I don't see why not. And congratulations on your first book. I've read it and loved it and I understand the second one is already here. I'm going to snag a copy as soon as they copyedit it."
"Thank you for being so patient with a newbie, Sandy. I'll take all your advice."
Jane hung up and did a little dance around the living room, scaring Max and Meow, who were sleeping curled up together on the sofa.
"I'm a real writer now, kitties," she said, giving them both neck scritches.
Chapter
TWELVE
J
ane invited Mel to come to dinner. She had a copy of her book already signed for him. "To Mel, With Love, From Jane."
She'd made crispy fried chicken breasts, mashed potatoes, and overcooked green beans with onions and bacon. Good old comfort food. After dinner she gave him the book.
"I hope you'll read it. It's really a book women will enjoy more than men. Then you never have to read another one if you don't want to."
"Jane, I intend to read every single one of them." "Really and truly, you don't have to read them." Quickly changing the subject, she asked, "How is your